The Ultimate Currency
by TheAeacusProject
Summary: Katie & Emily Fitch have grown farther apart the longer they've been out of college. Ten years later, the twins are caught on different sides of an explosive series of events that threatens to tear them apart for good, sending Emily on a search for the truth that will make her question everything she thought she knew and strain her relationship with Naomi.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: T**his is primarily focused on my favorite surviving members of Gen 2, but there will be appearances by some of Gen 1 eventually. Inspiration came in part from 'Inside Man,' the 2006 movie directed by Spike Lee and starring Clive Owen and Denzel Washington. I don't own Skins or any of the characters, and in no way profit from their use.

Chapter 1

"This is so fucking stupid. I don't understand why you're making me do this. Can I just fucking leave, please?" Katie rolled her eyes, brushed her hair back over her right ear, and crossed her arms over her chest. This was such a waste of time. She didn't know anything. Anything. And keeping her here in this stupid interview room was making her dangerously close to being late for a hair appointment.

And Christ she needed something to relax her after Monday and Tuesday. It was Thursday and she still wasn't quite sure the beginning of the week had actually happened, or if she had just gotten properly fucked up the previous weekend and was only now waking up. That she could handle. Blacking out for four days—that'd be a story she could work with. The alternative wasn't quite as conducive to crafting a conquest she could tell over drinks tomorrow night.

Katie shifted in her seat, uncrossing her arms so that she could adjust the skirt she was wearing and recross her legs. She wasn't terribly dressed up, but she never left her flat without being confident she'd turn heads. And today looking good wasn't just for show—she had wagered that it would be a couple of moldable men questioning her, guys she could wrap around her finger and toy with. _That_ would have been an amusing afternoon distraction. But not this.

This was infinitely worse. The nightmares had been terrible the last couple nights. And if she was having nightmares, then that meant it probably was real—Katie had heard you only dream about things you thought about or experienced in real life—and if what had happened was real, her whole world was in as many pieces as the reams of paper, particles of ceiling tile, and shards of glass that had covered her car when she had returned to retrieve it yesterday. Katie involuntarily shivered and closed her eyes for a second to shut out the rush of memories that had risen again. And these memories were made even bleaker and more painful because of the person across the table.

"Katie? Are you alright?" her questioner asked tentatively.

Katie snapped her eyes open and gained some control over her emotions. She cocked her head and spat in response, "I'm fucking fine. I was just held hostage for two fucking days, I have no job, I can't sleep, and that whole time you got to sit in a trailer and play 'Deal or No Deal' for my life. How the fuck are you, Emily?"

Emily looked down at the table as her twin tried to melt her with a stare she could only have learned from their mother. Guilt, helplessness, and frustration battled each other in her gut, and all three had made her physically sick over the last couple days. But Katie didn't know that. Couldn't know that. And Emily couldn't afford to get into an argument with her now. Not if she wanted to catch the bastard that had done this. Emily looked up at her twin and tried to reach across the table and hold her hand, but Katie recoiled instantly.

"Katie, I want to help you. I know how you feel."

"Fat chance. You have absolutely no idea how I feel."

"Maybe not exactly, but it wasn't exactly a cheery week for me, either, ok? Can you please just answer the questions, Katie? Anything you can tell us—tell me—will help us catch these guys."

"You won't catch them. You couldn't even catch them when you knew exactly where they were."

Exasperated, Emily slumped back in her chair. "Katie, please."

"Listen to yourself! You're so pathetic, you still can't do anything without my help." Katie stood up and adjusted her skirt. She took two steps towards the door and turned back to her sister. "Are you going to let me leave or what?"

Emily turned and looked up at her, trying to put on a brave face and keep her professional bearing. "This isn't over, Katie. If you don't tell me, someone else will keep bothering you."

"Oh, it is over. Now, open the fucking door. I have an appointment."

Emily let her hand hover over the buzzer on the bottom of the table and studied her sister. She knew Katie was upset and bothered by what had happened—it radiated off of her. But Emily knew that here, in her office, Katie would never tell her. As much as Emily wanted Katie to open up, she was acutely aware that her job was coming between them at the most inopportune time. Not that they had been particularly close for several years, but this shield that Katie had thrown up felt like a slap in the face.

Emily pressed the buzzer and heard the door unlock. Without saying good-bye, Katie pulled it open and strutted out of the conference room and down the hall. Emily took a couple steadying breaths as the door slowly swung back shut. Her sister's footsteps faded farther and farther down the hall, and it felt like with each step she was leaving Emily alone to deal with all of their problems.

But Katie wasn't getting off that easy, Emily told herself. She picked up the small stack of papers and clipboard that had been sitting on the edge of the table, ready to be covered in notes, observations, and drawings if Katie had been forthcoming with details of her ordeal. Clearly, that wasn't going to be the case, not this afternoon, not here. She dropped the papers and clipboard in her bag and looked up at the ceiling through her bangs, its cold lighting staring back down at her.

"I'm just trying to help you," she said to no one. She took a deep breath and picked up her bag. Emily pressed the buzzer as she stood and walked out of the room. The hallway wasn't any more inviting than the interrogation room, bare gray walls with the occasional door leading to another interrogation room and a security desk at the very end. As Emily neared it, the guard swiveled in his chair and depressed the button to unlock the double doors that separated the interrogation wing from the rest of the offices.

"I feel like I'm seeing double," the guard offered with a smile.

Emily faked a smile in return. "We're not that alike, actually."

"I'll take your word for it, Detective."

"Not like you have much of a choice," Emily muttered as she walked away and back towards the office she had been temporarily assigned while they interviewed and questioned all of Katie's coworkers. The event had gotten national media attention, which naturally meant it merited a national response; in this case, that meant having to vacate her usual office on the third floor so that a deputy head of something or other from London could set it up as his local command center and she was relegated to the first sublevel with the interrogation rooms, classrooms, and one of the forensics labs.

Emily fumbled in her bag for her keychain and unlocked the door to the tiny little office that she was currently sharing with her counterpart from the financial department. Luckily he was gone for the day and she didn't have to deal with his consistent efforts to discreetly check her out. She gagged thinking about how 'discreet' he was as she dropped the bag on the floor next to her desk. She looked at the clock and let an exasperated sigh out. She wasn't going to get anything else accomplished so long as Katie was dominating her thoughts. Without bothering to sit down and get some more work done, Emily pressed the keys on her computer to shut down the console for the evening and grabbed her jacket.

If Katie didn't want to talk here, then Emily would make her talk somewhere else.

* * *

The car door slammed shut and Katie let out a frustrated shriek. She clenched her hands around the wheel and shut her eyes as tightly as she could manage. This was so fucked. Why did Emily have to be so high and mighty, so unaffected by all this? Didn't she know that she came this close to losing her twin only a couple days ago? Shouldn't she have been able to feel that, if not on Monday and Tuesday, then certainly just now sitting in the same room together? Why did she have to drag her down here to the local offices instead of just coming over and talking?

_Because __she __doesn__'__t __really __care __right __now__; __she __only __cares __about __her __job_, a small voice whispered in response. Katie blinked away the loneliness that had been building inside and threatening to come bursting out in rivers of tears. _Get __a __grip__, __girl_. Katie took a steadying couple breaths and opened her eyes. If Emily wasn't going to be there for her—again—then she'd do what Katie Fitch did best. She'd solve her own problems and wait to explain everything to her sister afterwards. Some good thinking and analyzing things did. How far did Emily's 'thinking things through' get her on Monday? Nowhere. If anything, it had put them in even greater danger with her stalling and pathetic attempts at negotiating. Thank God they had gotten out of it in spite of Emily's efforts.

Katie reached into her bag and grabbed her keys. Enough thinking about the horrors of earlier in the week. She had an appointment to make and she couldn't be late. She peeled out of the parking garage much more quickly than she intended, but she didn't care. The farther away from Emily and the police station she got, the less she was bothered by what had happened. Or so she told herself.

* * *

Emily had been sitting on the front steps of Katie's apartment building for twenty minutes before the rain began and forced her to the refuge of the lobby. She cursed herself—not for the first time—for being stubborn and not ditching her moped for a real car. Ten years on and she still couldn't bring herself to sell it. Most of the time it wasn't a problem, but the foul weather that seemed perpetual this time of year was always a particular bother. Emily sighed and looked out the rain-streaked glass on the doors wishing her sister would hurry up and return from her appointment. Drops of water collected at the bottom of her hair and fell heavily onto the back of her neck. Emily shivered.

Finally, Emily saw Katie walking along the sidewalk, an umbrella held aloft in her left hand and a scowl on her face. _Must__'__ve __been __a __hair __appointment_, Emily thought sourly. That would make her efforts to reach out to her sister even more difficult. Katie turned to begin walking up the steps and caught sight of the moped leaning against the brick wall flanking the steps. Emily couldn't make out what her sister muttered, but she was positive it was not flattering. Her assumption was confirmed as Katie opened the door, closed the umbrella, and greeted Emily with a derisive snort.

"Christ, don't you ever give up? Has anyone ever told you how annoyingly persistent you are?"

Emily repressed a fleeting smile from crossing her face as a college memory of Naomi making a similar observation flashed through her mind. Instead, she crossed her arms to guard against another shiver. "Katie, I really need to talk to you. This is serious business. And you're my sister. I need to know what happened to you."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you dragged me down to a police station and before my hair was perfectly ruined by this weather. Fuck, well you can't just stand here dripping wet. Come on." Katie started across the foyer towards the stairs without a backwards glance as Emily tugged her jacket tighter around her shoulders and followed wordlessly. Her sister might act like a bitch sometimes, but Emily knew that she'd eventually cave and confide in her. Whether she would accept Emily's recounting of events, however, was a separate matter.

"There's tea on the stove for you," Katie called from the front room when she heard Emily come out of the bedroom and pad down the hall of her apartment a short time later. Katie was sitting sipping her own large cup on the couch, both hands cradling the large mug for warmth, her legs curled up underneath her as she leaned against the arm of the sofa. Emily appeared from the hall toweling her hair dry and wearing one of Katie's hoodies as she detoured to the kitchen.

"You're a decent host for someone who wanted nothing to do with me a couple hours ago," called Emily from the kitchen as she added a lemon to her tea. "It's been awhile since we did this."

"Yeah, well don't think it's going to become tradition or anything," retorted Katie.

Emily sat down on the window seat and looked out at the rain falling in the puddles forming on the pavement three stories below. The towel was now wrapped around her hair completely as she slowly took a drink and savored the warmth of the tea.

"Still, it's nice."

"Whatever. Look, I couldn't say anything this afternoon 'cause that room gave me the creeps, ok? I don't know how you make people fess up or whatever in there 'cause it's uncomfortable and just...creepy. Besides, I don't really know anything anyways. They split us up into little groups and locked us in different offices."

Emily turned to look at her sister, surprised. "Well that was more than I expected you to give me straight away. I'm going to need to write some of this down."

Katie shrugged as Emily set her cup down and crossed the room. She pulled a notebook from her bag where she had dropped it upon entering Katie's flat and fished a pen out as well. She returned to the window seat and sat cross-legged on it, facing Katie on the sofa. Emily bit her lip as she tried to decide what she wanted to ask first. Katie just stared at her tea and ran her thumb along the mug's handle.

"Let's start on Monday morning, I guess. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you went to work?"

Katie snorted, "You mean like did I know the guy cleaning the lobby floor was actually a fucking terrorist or whatever? I had no fucking idea."

Emily tapped her pen and shook her head. "No, I mean was anything different in the way people acted or in how things were set up when you arrived at work?"

Katie sipped at her tea while she thought back. They weren't exactly thoughts she wanted to relive, and most of the details from before the takeover were sketchy to her, but she knew Emily wouldn't let her off the hook. Besides, as the afternoon had gone on, Katie had come to the conclusion—albeit begrudgingly—that Emily was one of the few people she could trust in all this that was also in a position to maybe do something about it. That didn't make telling her much easier, but Katie figured there was more good to be had than bad from telling most of what she could recall to her twin.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I arrived a little late, I mean it was a Monday for Christ's sake. I wasn't particularly looking forward to going in to work. Over the weekend a story had leaked to the press that we were going to announce a delay in our newest computer protection system. I was going to have to do damage control all day and maybe longer. Dealing with the press and trying to keep track of all those fuckers that blog the news instantaneously is always a royal pain in the ass. So I had that to look forward to. And I might or might not have blown off this guy from future planning last Thursday night, and I knew he'd try and find me. So there was that awkward conversation to look forward to as well.

Whatever, so I get there a little late and thank God the guy who had my job before I took over had been a whiny prick and bitched until he got an assigned spot 'cause it meant I didn't have to park way the fuck away from the doors. So I walked in, went through security with no problem...

"They didn't seem nervous or act differently?"

No it was the same to fat guys that always sit there and lean against the desk with their doughnuts watching us walk past their special cameras and whatever. Prob'ly perving us the whole time. Whatever. It was less busy since I was late but otherwise same as always. Somebody rushing to clean up spilt coffee, the janitor acting like a lazy fuck...the usual.

Things started getting weird when I got upstairs though. For one, the elevator wasn't working properly above our floor and there were these techs messing with it so we had to ride up with them and of course they hadn't showered. So there were a couple others from PR that got off with me and headed to the break room, and a couple headed to the stairs to walk the rest of the way up to their floors. It seemed odd that they would even let us use the elevators if they were broken at all, but I didn't really think about it too hard at the time. I poured myself some coffee in the break room and caught up with the girls about the weekend for a few and then Ronald came down from upstairs to give us the morning brief. There was maybe ten of us, a couple more, I'm not sure. But he started talking about the computer thing and I got a little bored. That was when I noticed the elevator techs were walking over to us.

"Did they look dangerous?"

Well, that would kind of defeat the purpose of a disguise wouldn't it, Ems? Jesus, I thought you did this for a living. No they were kind of just wandering over. Four of them, with two more that broke off and headed into the cubicles. The four came over to the break room. Most people didn't see them 'cause Ronald was in the back corner and like good kiss-asses they were hanging on every fucking word of his brief. But I had looked away and watched these guys. Right before they entered the room, they put on sunglasses and pulled masks from their pockets and slipped them on—

"So no one else but you saw their faces? Katie, that's—"

A bad thing. Just like interrupting. 'Cause they knew it, and I knew it, and they unzipped their jackets and pulled out some guns. Like the ones that James used to play with, kind of boxy and with a really long part that extended down past where they held it. And it kind of folded up too so that it could be hidden better. Anyway, the first came right over to me; I tried to back away but just ran into somebody and we ended up on the floor. The...I'll call them techs, ok? The tech reached down to pull me up and as he did a second hit me on the back of the head. Everything went black...

* * *

"And then she just clammed up and wouldn't do anything but drink tea and pretty soon the tea wasn't tea anymore but gin. Katie hates gin, Naomi; she only drinks it when she's upset or really, really drunk. I think tonight she was going for both."

They were lying in bed, Naomi rolled over and propped up on an elbow, running her finger along the pale skin of Emily's shoulder. When Emily had come home later than usual and looking like she had just gagged and swallowed her own vomit, Naomi knew Katie was probably involved. The stark differences in the twins' personalities had always baffled Naomi, but the events of earlier in the week seemed to have accentuated the strain between the two of them. That strain had been there for several years, and Naomi knew that she was at least one of the underlying reasons for it. Katie had seemed to accept her sister's sexuality throughout their time at university, even playing a gracious host on a couple occasions Naomi could recall; however, she had reverted to her old frosty demeanor the farther into the public eye that Naomi—and by extension, Emily—had moved. That cooling of Katie's feelings towards her sister had stayed constant for a time, with the twins only seeing one another at holidays, and occasionally at other times when Naomi had been away in London or giving speeches elsewhere. Naomi had held out hope that following the upcoming elections she could persuade Emily to reconnect with Katie, but the week's events had instead dragged them into one another's lives much sooner, and most definitely not in the measured, conciliatory way Naomi had envisioned.

Naomi squeezed Emily's shoulder reassuringly. "Seems like you were able to make some headway with her, at least. That counts for something this soon after a traumatic event like that. I'd be drinking away my nightmares too if I had been held hostage for thirty hours."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to stop it from quivering. Thirty hours. Yesterday, when she had called Katie to ask her to come in and be interviewed, her older sister had insinuated that it was Emily's fault the hostage situation had dragged on for as long as it had. The accusation, while not made explicit, had been clear in her tone and bothered Emily deeply. She was certain that she had done everything in her power to help her sister and the others be rescued as soon as possible, but it would take more than saying so to convince Katie. Just telling Kate the truth never seemed to suffice, especially in dramatic circumstances. She stubbornly clung to her own version of events until it struck her right between the eyes.

"She thinks it's because of me though. That I fucked everything and kept them in there longer. Like I was punishing her."

"Emily, she can't really believe that."

"'fraid so. I know the look she gave me when I met her in the station. I've seen it a thousand times when our parents were scolding us growing up, snuck across the room when they weren't looking. The 'this is all your fault and now I have to pay for it' look."

Naomi sighed and laid back and stared up at the ceiling. Morose Emily was the worst. Even after being together for so long, there were occasions when no matter what she tried, Emily closed down. The best solution was, more times than not, to let it run its course—helped along by some vodka tonics or chicken noodle soup. Unfortunately, neither avenue seemed open to Naomi at present. She bit her lip, nonplussed. To her left, rain pitter-pattered against the circular window of their loft bedroom. It was a perfect soup night, except dinner was ages ago and they both had work tomorrow. _Fuck __it__._

Naomi planted a soft kiss on her girlfriend's red hair and sat up on the edge of the bed looking out at the rain and wiggling her toes against the cool hardwood floor. Emily rolled over and frowned watching as Naomi padded over to the dresser and pulled some socks on.

"Where're you going?"

Naomi turned, hugging herself with her left arm and holding her right arm up to her face, resting her thumb against her cheek. She couldn't see more than Emily's silhouette in the murky darkness of their bedroom, but Naomi could picture the look Emily would have on her face: her puzzle-solving furrowed brow and bitten lower lip. Naomi smiled to herself and walked slowly downstairs, casting a look back over her shoulder as Emily called out again.

Emily groaned and threw the covers off. What was Naomi on about now? She shuffled downstairs, confused and wanting to go back upstairs and sleep, but the sound of pots and pans clanging in the small kitchen piqued her interest. She rounded the corner to find Naomi straining to grab two cans of soup off the top shelf across the room. Emily took the opportunity to check out her girlfriend and leaned against the door frame.

Focused on the line of skin showing where Naomi's t-shirt had ridden up as she stretched to reach into the cabinet, Emily commented, "You didn't have to come down here to tease me, you know. That's what the bedroom's for..."

"But you can't make soup in bed, can you?" Naomi turned and grinned, holding a can of chicken noodle soup in either hand and relaxing against the counter. Emily couldn't help but smile in return. She crossed the room and kissed Naomi firmly while taking one of the cans from her. She pulled away and looked up.

"No. I guess you're right." Emily rifled through a drawer to get the can opener out. "I could use a soup night right now, but it'll have to be a quick one 'cause now I'm wide awake and wanting to do some teasing of my own."

Naomi set the soup cans down and walked over to wrap her arms around her red-headed girlfriend from behind. She rested her cheek against Emily's head and closed her eyes. She felt Emily relax into her embrace and waited. The can opener was placed on the counter and Emily turned around. She buried her face in Naomi's shoulder and returned the hug.

"I can't stop thinking about that man falling out of the window, and all of them trapped in there, and Katie. I can't sleep, Naomi. It's awful. I should have done more."

Naomi bit her lip. Emily hadn't even told _her_ exactly what had happened yet. Somehow, Naomi didn't think this was going to be the time she caved. Emily was too distracted by what had happened with her sister earlier in the evening. But then again, wasn't that what the soup was for? She eased Emily out from her arms and picked up the can opener.

"Let's get this started, yeah?" Emily nodded an affirmative and shuffled into the den as Naomi began preparing their late-night snack.

Ten minutes later, Naomi was carrying two bowls of chicken noodle soup into the den. She placed them on the coffee table and cuddled up on the couch with her girlfriend, trying unsuccessfully to part Emily from half of the blanket she had wrapped herself in. Emily reached out and picked up her bowl and tried it tentatively, blowing on the soup to cool it; Naomi felt her lips twitch into a smile at how cute she looked doing so. After letting Emily get a couple tastes, Naomi picked up her bowl as well and leaned against the opposite end of the couch, facing Emily over their respective bowls of soup.

"Ems?" Naomi trailed off as Emily looked up at her and nodded.

"Thanks for the soup. I guess it's time for my side of the story then."

"Not if you don't—"

"No I need to tell someone, Naomi, and there's no one I trust more than you. I guess I'll start at the beginning, yeah?"


	3. Chapter 3

I got the call that there might be a hostage situation at my desk on Monday morning. Of course, they just gave me an address and I had no idea that it was Katie's company. When I got there, there was already a police cordon set up at the outside of the parking lot and between the other buildings in the technology park. The Special Response team wasn't there yet, and neither was the negotiator's truck. We hadn't heard any sort of demands. We hadn't heard anything from inside the building, and that scared me more than anything. That's usually one of the first things that happens in a hostage situation; the hostage takers reach out to try and build a rapport, make it easier to get what they want as the scenario goes on. But all morning we heard nothing.

Right before lunch I got a call from the head negotiator back at the station. He said that I was on my own because they couldn't get anyone out to me until the evening. I pressed him for why but he just apologized, gave me a couple of bullshit reasons, and hung up. So I was going to have to negotiate with whomever it was that had taken my sister's company hostage. Why he tapped me for the job, I don't know. There were other officers more experienced than me there, but I said fuck it, I'll do it. Not like I had a choice. So that meant I was without the negotiator's van with all its communications gear and everything. I've never done a hostage situation before, Naomi. I normally don't go to active scenes; I investigate afterwards and question people, but the call had gone out to everyone for this. So I took one of the phones out of a Special Response truck to use and I called the general number we had for the building. It was just after lunch, I guess.

It rang four times and I was beginning to think that no one would answer, then I heard the line click. _Who __am __I __speaking __to__?_ I told him that I was the negotiator he would be speaking with, but I didn't give my name. _I __have __four __things __to __tell __you __and __listen __carefully __because __I __will __not __repeat __myself__:_ (I grabbed a pen and paper quickly so that I could write what he said down)

_1) __The __police __will __come __no __closer __than__ 100 meters __to __the __building __in __any __direction__. __If __they __do__, __I __will __detonate __one __explosive __device __somewhere __in __the __building __for __each __officer __that __violates __this __restriction__._

_2) __I __will __call __you __if __the __workers __here __need __any __food __or __other __services__. __You __will __not __give __them __without __being __asked __nor __will __you __call __offering __them__. __Delivering __these __goods __will __be __the __only __time __you __may __send __people __closer __than__ 100 __meters __to __the __building__. __I __will __initiate __any __future __negotiations__. __If __you __call __me __again__, __I __will __detonate __one __explosive __device __somewhere __in __the __building__._

_3) __Before __the__ 10 __pm __news __this __evening__, __Strategic __Security __Initiatives __will __issue __a __statement detailing __all __financial __transactions __for __the __past__ 10 __years__. __Once __this __press __release __has __been __read __on __the __news__, __SSI __will __transfer __£500 __million __to __an __account __number __I __will __give __you __at __a __later __time__. __If __they __do __not __comply __with __both __requirements __by__ 10 __pm__, __I __will __shoot __one __employee __in __this __building __every __hour __until __they __comply__._

_4) __By__ 10 __am __tomorrow __you __will __have __arranged __for __three __buses __to __be __brought __to __the __front __door __of __the __building __and __a __police __escort __to __take __these __buses __to __Bristol __International __Airport __where __a __plane __will __be __idling __on __the __runway __for __us__. __If __the __buses __are __not __provided __promptly __at__ 10 __as __requested__, __then __I __will __continue __to __shoot __one __employee __every __half __hour __until __we __receive __them__._

The man hung up and I found my hand was shaking around the phone. I stepped out of the van and took several deep breaths. Then I called the station and relayed his requests. I was told flat out that we did not negotiate with terrorists and that they were going to bring in a specialist from London to negotiate with them; he never came. I started trying to work with some of the Special Response officers to come up with a way to get surveillance inside the building, but with people pulling back to 100 meters, it didn't seem feasible. We had some guys on top of the vans and on top of other buildings that could see into the outer offices, but they had closed all the blinds, and in the rooms without them had put up opaque tarps. The only way we'd get something inside was if they asked for food and we could sneak a camera or something inside.

"So how did you end up inside the building?"

I'm getting there, Naomi. I need to tell the whole story, alright?

"'Kay, kay, just wondering. Keep going."

Where was I? Right, so it was getting on in the afternoon when the phone rang in the van; I had barely moved ten meters from it all day. _In __two __hours__, __you __will __bring __sandwiches __for__ 150 __people __to __the __front __door__. __They __will __be __individually __wrapped __in __clear __plastic __wrap __and __placed __in __a __large __cardboard __box__, 50 __sandwiches __to __a __box__. __Three __police __officers __and __yourself __will __walk __them __to __the __front __door__, __unarmed__. __You __will __open __the __door __and __the __three __boxes __will __be __placed __inside__. __The __four __of __you __will __then __walk __straight __away __from __the __front __door __across __the __parking __lot __until __you __reach __the__ 100 __meter __distance__._

I told him that the only way I would do that is if he let me speak with him when I dropped the boxes off. _Why__? __I __have __given __you __very __clear __instructions__. __There __is __nothing __to __negotiate__. _He hung up. I slammed the phone down and stalked out of the van. One of the guys that had worked with me before tried to take me aside and calm me down, but it wasn't helpful at all. Whoever the guy on the phone was, he held all the cards, Naoms. So I started putting together the food request, calling a place down the road and talking to the head of Special Response to get three officers to go with me across no-man's land with the food. The sun was setting behind the building, casting our area of the perimeter in a deep shadow—they started setting up these big flood lights on the top of vans or the light poles in the parking lot.

And then the news crews finally showed up. I'm not sure how word didn't get out earlier in the day, but it was probably a half hour before we had to take the food to the building. There were two vans that showed up initially, and the cars blocking the road up to the tech park stopped them, but then more started arriving, and then there was a news helicopter overhead—all in the span of twenty minutes or so. I started getting that weird feeling in my gut, like there was something else going on around me and I had no idea what was actually happening. Then a reporter somehow got through the cordon and was standing outside the van, trying to yell questions in, asking who was communicating with the hostage takers. I walked out and told him to fuck off, not noticing that the red light was lit on his recorder. He started accusing us of covering up what was really going on and just as I was starting to get flustered denying him, the phone rang.

I scrambled back into the van as the reporter tried to fight in with me; two officers grabbed him and bodily escorted him away from the van. I picked up the phone and waited for the guy to speak, but it wasn't the same voice. It was a new one, and it seemed distorted. Still, there was something familiar about it, but I was too nervous that I didn't give it much thought.

_In __ten __minutes __I __expect __there __to __be __three __boxes __of __sandwiches __dropped __off __on __my __doorstep __like __it__'__s __Christmas__._ I told him that there would be and he didn't have to worry, that we were working on his other requests as well but might need more time. _You__'__re __stalling__. __You__'__ve __got __four __more __hours __until __the __news__. __That __should __be __more __than __enough__, __miss...__._ He waited for me to give him my name, but I didn't bite. He hung up and I turned to find the head of Special Response standing just outside the van. The sandwiches had arrived, only someone had decided that it was going to be easier to sneak listening devices in if we used pizza boxes instead. So they had three boxes filled with a few pizzas and maybe half the requested sandwiches.

I followed up to where they were staging the boxes and discussing how to best cover us while we walked in. They handed me a Kevlar vest that was way too big, but insisted I wear it anyway. You should have seen me, I was fucking drowning in it...Anyway, I had been armed with my issued handgun when I arrived, so I handed it over to the head of Special Response before putting on a helmet as well as an earpiece so I could talk to the head of Special Response. I looked absolutely ridiculous. Twice as ridiculous as when I'm riding my moped. Before the SFO let me leave, he ordered me not to make any sort of additional requests when we were up there. I retorted that maybe he should have listened to simple directions before trying to give me orders and I walked out.

The four of us—the three of them carrying the boxes of sandwiches and me last in line—began the long walk across no-man's land. I swear that's the longest walk I've ever made in my life. My palms were sweating, I was breathing like I had been running a 5k. My heart was pounding, Naoms; I was scared for my life. And Katie's. I had no idea whether she was alive or even there or...I couldn't take the not knowing. It was pretty dark now, and there was a spotlight on us the whole way, which made it even hotter under that vest and the stupid helmet. Problem was, we couldn't really see anything out in the darkness beyond the spotlight, which made it that much more nerve-wracking.

We came up onto the sidewalk that led to the front door and the spotlight moved to illuminate the door itself, so we were temporarily plunged into that awkward half-darkness just outside a lighted area. I peeked around the officers in front of me and saw there were two men standing just inside the door waiting for us. They had these stocky little machine guns and were wearing masks that covered all of their face below their eyes and they had on sunglasses, even though it was night. As we came up to the door, one of them pushed it open from the inside and ordered us to set down the boxes.

I pushed to the front and told him if they wanted the sandwiches that they'd have to show me that all the hostages were ok. They paused and then one of them walked away to a side of the lobby and started talking into a handheld radio. In my ear, I could hear the chief of Special Response demanding to know why we weren't heading back yet. I couldn't answer because the guy on the radio was walking back over to us. _They __will __wait __here__. __You __come __with __us__._ He started off quickly towards the back of the lobby where the elevators were. We waited briefly as it descended down to our floor and then four other techs—that was the word Katie used—came out and went to get the boxes. My escort and I rode the elevator up before they returned. He took me up to the third floor and we walked forward into the cubicle farm, only they had rearranged it so that they could defend against an attack from the elevator and the two emergency stairwells at either end of the building. I asked him where the hostages were, but he ignored me and went back to the elevator.

Two other techs appeared from the cubicles and waved for me to follow them. They took me into what seemed to be an office along the outside wall of the floor. In it there were probably ten or so workers sitting on the floor facing the walls with a rag tied around their head gagging them so they couldn't speak and their hands bound behind their backs with flexicuffs. When we entered, they tried to turn around and see who had entered. Several realized I was on their side and tried futilely to call out. Quickly, one of the techs grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me out of that office and into a second one to show me more of the same: workers that looked unharmed except for the gags and flexicuffs. This continued for maybe six offices and then we walked directly past the break room and they started to lead me back to the elevator. I stopped and asked about it, but they just shook their heads and tried to get me to follow them to the elevator. I jerked away from the one holding onto my elbow and opened the door to the break room.

Inside were two techs sitting at a table watching a bank of small monitors linked to the surveillance cameras all around the building; they stood up, surprised, when I opened the door. But I wasn't paying attention to them or to the computers they had set up in there as well. In the corner, back by the vending machine, were two people bound on the floor. One was a man who looked like he could be important or an executive; the other was Katie. Before I could stop myself, I gasped her name. She looked up and I saw that she had been crying and she had a swollen lip and there was a small lump on the side of her head where they must have struck her as well. Then the two techs from the cubicle farm grabbed me and pulled me out of the break room and dragged me to the elevator.

There was a ringing in my ears and I couldn't focus clearly. One of the techs was telling me that the tour was over and I had made a mistake. His voice sounded vaguely like one I had heard on the phone, but I wasn't concentrating on it. All I could think about was Katie isolated in there, hurt, those eyes, Naomi. I'll never forget that look she gave me. It was worse than the one in the interrogation room today. And what's worse, she doesn't remember it, Naomi. She's blocked it out; the first thing she told me tonight was how they had been split up in different offices, as if she didn't think I knew.

I stumbled out of the elevator and walked in a daze through the lobby and followed the three Special Response officers across no-man's land. It hadn't even occurred to me that she could be in more danger since I had said her name and obviously knew her. Before going inside, I had hoped that she hadn't done anything to stand out and they wouldn't be able to link us together, but if I had been thinking clearly, I would have recognized that was impossible now. In contrast to the first walk across the lot, this one flashed by and before I knew it, I was standing outside the van and already the secure phone was ringing.

_You __should __not __have __pressed __your __luck __like __that, Detective, w__ith the pizzas and the tour. __That __sort __of __thing __can __have __serious __repercussions__. __The __amount __of __money __I __want __transferred __has __just __doubled__._

The phone clicked dead and I threw my helmet out of the van. I was angry and frustrated, Naomi. I felt like I wasn't doing anything productive, that my big chance to see what we were up against and if Katie was okay had backfired and put us in a worse place than before. Rashly, I dialed the number back. It wasn't until the phone clicked that I remember what he had said earlier. _I __do __not __repeat __myself__. __You __know __the __consequence __of __calling __me__. _I tried to protest and tell him to wait and not do something stupid, but he hung up.

I don't remember screaming, but I must have as I jumped out of the van because people started turning around to look at me. I tripped and crawled behind a squad car and there was a deafening roar and the night briefly turned to day. Glass and paper and little pieces of metal started raining down all over the parking lot. I glanced over the hood of the car and saw a large pane of glass on the second floor totally gone and small tongues of flame flickering along the frame and in the room. It seemed like there was confetti falling all over the place, but the little pricks from glass and metal on my arms told me otherwise. And all I could think, Naomi, was that I had possibly just killed my sister.

* * *

Emily awoke the next morning as the little spoon with Naomi still holding her tightly as she slept. Emily had broken down telling Naomi about Monday's events and sobbed openly for a half hour before the two of them had made their way back upstairs and fallen asleep. She knew she'd need to finish her story for Naomi at some point, but she just hadn't had the strength the night before. It had been pushing two in the morning when they had fallen asleep. Emily reached for her phone and saw that it was only four and a half hours later.

Emily slipped out of Naomi's grasp as carefully as she could, lightly kissed the blonde woman's cheek, and tried to wash away the now constant feelings of guilt and helplessness with a hot shower. _Feeling sorry for yourself won't fix things, girl. __It's a new day._


	4. Chapter 4

Naomi looked up from reading her morning brief on her tablet as Emily entered the kitchen. The red-head leaned down and kissed her on the cheek and let her hand glide across Naomi's shoulders as she walked past her to the coffee maker. Naomi turned back to the emailed brief and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. The majority of it concerned the media's coverage and twisting of the SSI hostage situation from earlier in the week; apparently the media machine hadn't found anything else exciting to cover as the week went on. There was a small blurb on an upcoming bill about quality assurance on Southeast Asian imports, another regarding human rights, and another detailing the ongoing contingency operations that the Royal Marines were supporting in Lebanon and Syria—

"I know I said it loads of times last night, but thanks again for listening," Emily interrupted Naomi's concentration and made her look over. Emily was looking back over her shoulder as she stirred cream into her coffee.

"Not a problem, babes." Naomi pushed the chair out with her foot. "Sit down."

Emily obliged and picked up a piece of toast off Naomi's plate, deftly avoiding Naomi's attempt to slap her hand away. With a teasing grin, Emily took a bite and nodded at the tablet. "So what's the big news this morning, MP?"

Naomi snorted and shook her head. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" She tried to glare at Emily, but felt her affected anger dissolving into laughter instead. "Well, we have a lovely story about making sure the things we buy are made to standards."

"Sounds serious."

"Mmm. And another about how we're wasting such-and-such amount of pounds every day on the air conditioning for our troops in the Middle East."

"Air conditioning! Scandalous."

"Yes, very. Oh, and another on making sure that we do more to stop human trafficking in Burma and Bangladesh."

"Sounds like a cheery read. But important."

"Uh huh." Naomi fell silent. Emily frowned and waited. "And then there's a bunch on the hostage standoff."

"Figures. I guess it's not going to go away as quickly as people would like. And I know you're catching heat for it as well, Naomi."

"Emily, the last thing you need to be worried about in this is me. I can defend myself." Naomi looked at the clock on the wall and blinked. "I have to go."

"Naomi, don't. I was just going to say—"

"What? That it's not my problem and I didn't have anything to do with it? Well, that's one of the joys of the job, Ems, that anything that happens to my people is my problem." Naomi set her mug and plate in the sink, turned around, and took a deep breath. "And you almost didn't come back, Emily. That makes it personal. I have to make a speech today about it downtown. Hopefully it will be over in the media by Monday and we can get back to normal, ok?"

Emily tried to smile and look comforted by Naomi's concern. "Kay. Love you."

"I love you too. I'll see you tonight." Naomi picked up the tablet off the table and quickly left the kitchen.

She shook her head as she walked down the hall towards the front door, grabbing her bag on the way. Why did Emily think this was only hard on her? It had been hell being in London, instead of back in Bristol. They had just ended the second-to-last week of the session before the election. Hearing Emily's account of things during that first day took Naomi back to where she had been sitting stunned at the desk in her tiny office with her small staff crammed inside, hands over their mouths, watching in stupefied silence as the feed from the news chopper showed four tiny people walking across that huge open area of parking lot. The four walking back much more quickly than they had headed in. Not having any idea Emily was one of them at the time. Police scrambling for cover in the area that was clearly the command center while others stood around confused as a ball of flame burst out of the building unexpectedly.

Naomi walked down the front steps towards the car waiting for her on the curb. She looked up and down the street and smiled at the driver as he opened the door for her.

"Happy Friday, Robert."

"Good morning, Ms. Campbell." She unceremoniously tossed her bag into the car and settled in herself. She looked out the window back up at their modest home and then continued staring out at nothing in particular as the car took off. No, the beginning of the week had been awful. Not knowing if she would be able to get back to Bristol any time soon when they announced that mass transit into and out of the city was shut down until the standoff was over. Extra security all over the Parliament offices and government buildings in London as the threat for violence seemed to be extremely high. Nobody at the police station Emily worked at giving Naomi any help in getting a call through to the scene, even when she tried to use her position to her advantage.

Naomi sighed. And that had only been on Monday. She hadn't slept at all Monday night, sending her staff home and remaining in her office watching the non-stop coverage on the news. She had pulled up a different news source on her computer and had streamed a different feed of the events. Every hour she tried to reach Emily somehow, but once things started deteriorating around the first deadline that had been set, the police quit answering her calls to the station.

The car pulled up to the office building her local office was housed in and she grabbed her bag, waiting for the door to be opened. The driver opened the door and she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Already there were two or three desperate members of the media awaiting her; she ignored them and strode quickly inside.

After a quick walk up to the floor her staff of six rented for their constituency work—the floor above was rented out by her campaign, a difference necessary for financial reasons—she headed directly to the small room in the corner that sufficed as her office. It was messy, with pamphlets stacked precariously on the filing cabinet and on the floor next to her desk, campaign-stop posters and hand-held signs stacked in one corner, two extra chairs piled high with newspaper write-ups and letters to the editor regarding different issues close to Naomi's heart, and binders with prepared statements and speeches strewn across her desk. The budget had been short when they had hastily rented the floor out two years earlier, and Naomi had decided they could wait until after a successful reelection bid to find something a little more suitable for one of the up-and-coming members of the party. As she was placing her bag in the corner next to her desk, her chief of staff knocked on the open door and stepped in.

"Morning, MP."

"Jesus, Erik, not you too. I get that enough at home. What've we got today, other than this media address in an hour?"

"Let's see, briefing for media address 8:30, media address at 9, Q&A at 9:30, then it's mostly campaigning events. Addressing the Citizenry for Responsible Animal Protection at 10:30. Stop for lunch with a group of winners from the essay contest "Why Bristol's History is Important to its Future."

"That could be a little interesting," Naomi said as she scanned over some of the prepared statement for the media address, only half listening. The wall-to-wall schedule was the norm when she was in Bristol and had to show support for dozens of groups even if she had never heard of them.

"It's a group of Year 7 students who wrote about where they used to live and what happened to their old houses. You're supposed to show your support for the education initiatives that will be under consideration next session."

"Oh. Right. What else?"

"After lunch, a meeting back here with some representatives from BAE. Then a speech downtown on the river to advocate for more parks and better water treatment."

"Sounds like a wonderful day, Erik. Thank you." Naomi waited until he had closed the door and walked the short distance to his desk. "Sounds like absolute rubbish is more like it."

* * *

"Good morning. Thank you for attending this hastily called press conference. The events at SSI's Bristol regional office were unfortunate, senseless, and indescribable acts of terror and violence that have no place in the Bristol we are trying to build. I have every assurance that law enforcement members from Bristol and across the country are working around the clock to discover who attempted this blatant violation of our citizen's rights, and that they will not rest until there is a conclusion in this case and someone is brought to justice." Naomi swallowed hard and licked her lips as she turned the page of her prepared speech. She looked up at the group of twenty or so media members that had assembled in her campaign's prepared media room on the upper floor of their offices. Along the back wall, half a dozen TV cameras stood with their red 'record' lights aiming menacingly at the podium, at her. Naomi could feel herself beginning to sweat under the stage lights her campaign had rigged and the bright spotlights attached to the cameras. This was her least favorite part of the job, by far. Naomi looked down at the next page and prepared to continue.

"It is a dark time, assuredly, when the men and women of Bristol leave their homes in the morning under the ominous black cloud that they may not ever make it home to see their families for dinner, and not from some random accident or other danger that we face every day when we walk out our doors, but a danger far more ruthless. This week, an unfathomable danger of premeditated, meticulously planned terror in the workplace was unveiled and directly felt by more than 150 of Bristol's most dedicated citizens.

"There are no words foul enough in our language to describe what these terrorists and kidnappers undertook earlier this week. Moreover, there is only one word to describe the feeling that was churning in my gut as I watched the coverage of these events unfold: inadequate. Despite the mightiest efforts by our law enforcement, they just did not have the resources, funding, or training that are required to protect our citizens in this day and age. All of these were inadequate. It is dangerous for public safety when a small group of agitators can fluster and embarrass the finest local and national security forces we can provide. Inadequate." Naomi paused for dramatic effect and shook her head firmly.

"I will recommit myself to championing the support of our national security and law enforcement, and to that end I will be working closely with my colleagues as well as current members of law enforcement organizations and subject-matter experts to compile a holistic picture of where we must head in the future to prevent such an attack from occurring again. I will do the thing most in my power, which is to prepare and help introduce legislation that will rectify the grave gaps this terrible situation revealed in our current security status.

"The hostages that were taken and held against their will for 30 hours on Monday and Tuesday, as well as their families who are trying to cope with these disturbing events, are in our constant thoughts and prayers. Especially the family of Brian Long, who so tragically lost his life early Tuesday morning. There is no excuse for this type of intimidation, violence, and destruction. I will personally make sure that anything that can be done, will be done to support these families and the families of all law enforcement officers and military members that put their lives on the line each and every day to protect us."

* * *

Emily lifted the remote that was sitting on her desk, pointed it at the television monitor on the wall of her new office, and turned off Naomi's press conference. She didn't want to watch the questions portion of the press conference; she always hated that part. It was painful watching her girlfriend try to defend her ideals and convictions—convictions Emily knew were proudly and deeply held—as they demanded answers to questions based in speculation and rumors, challenged her to defend what she had just said, and tried to catch her in a contradiction.

Emily smiled to herself as she recalled the first campaign upon which Naomi had embarked, right after she had graduated from Goldsmith. They had been running the campaign for one of Bristol's municipal positions out of their tiny flat with three other volunteers who came in for six-hour shifts every day of the week for four months. Every night, over cheap wine and boxes and boxes of spaghetti (with the occasional taco night to celebrate a particularly successful fundraiser or endorsement), Emily would listen to Naomi practice her speeches for the next day and ask her mock 'difficult' questions to prepare her. How long they actually lasted at role-playing in a productive manner often depended on how quickly they got through the wine; after a couple glasses, Emily knew that she had often digressed from asking serious questions about taxes and the need for budget accountability to flirtatious suggestions and awful plays-on-words.

Emily's phone rang, jarring her out of her thoughts. She instinctively reached out and picked it up, checking to see who it was as she brought the receiver up to her ear. "Yes? Detective Fitch's desk."

"Detective, you have a visitor up here at the front desk. Says he needs to speak with you urgently about your SSI investigation; his business card says he's an 'International Transactions Liaison.'"

"Did he say why he needs to talk to me?"

"No, ma'am. Just that it was urgent."

"Right I got that." Emily looked at her watch and then at the schedule that was meticulously written out on her desk. "Have him escorted down here to Interview Room 2; I'll be down in a moment."

"Very well, Detective."

Emily placed the phone back in its cradle and frowned. 'International Transactions Liaison?' The officer at the front desk didn't even say he worked for SSI, so who was this guy? She looked back down at her schedule. This was going to disrupt the time she had set aside for continuing her write-up of the standoff. She looked farther down the schedule to where she had 'Drive to SSI' blocked in for her afternoon and a hastily scribbled 'Call Katie' during her lunch hour. As long as this was done before lunch, her write-up could wait until tomorrow. Emily lifted the small set of keys from where she had dropped them on her desk upon arriving that morning. If Katie would consent to meet her for lunch, then Emily was confident she could get her to accompany her to the SSI building. It could be a huge breakthrough if her sister remembered anything more. But first Emily knew that she needed to figure out who this visitor was, and what information he could possibly have that would be of such grave importance.

Emily grabbed a notepad, her recorder, and hurried down the hall. She flashed her ID at the security guard who waved her into the interrogation wing. She paused outside the interview room and then opened the door and eyed her visitor as he looked over at her. He was tall and extremely well-dressed in an expensive navy blue suit and a blue and white tie. His black hair was slicked to the side and his blue eyes flashed with recognition and interest as Emily crossed towards the table. He smoothly moved around it and extended his hand.

"You know, it's feels strange to finally meet you, Ms. Fitch. Effy told me so much about you and your sister. Sorry, where are my manners? Tony Stonem, pleasure to meet you."


	5. Chapter 5

The clock on the mantle said the time was a quarter to eleven, but Katie felt like no time had passed whatsoever since she had last seen it. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after Emily left the night before, and apparently had slept over twelve hours. Thank God she wasn't hungover; judging by the half-empty bottle of gin still out on the kitchen counter she had been trying her damndest to get properly fucked. Katie picked up the bottle to place it back in her liquor cabinet, but paused when she noticed that there was a note scrawled on some of her personal notepaper. It was Emily's careful, graceful script.

_Katie,_

_Thank you for trusting me tonight. I'm glad we talked and I hope we can talk again soon. I'm here to help you. And you should really find something else to drink. This gin tastes awful._

_Emily_

"Always were a sap, weren't you Emily?" Katie folded the note up and tossed it away. She looked at the gin bottle and frowned. Unscrewing the cap, Katie tipped it back and took a quick taste. She grimaced and tried to spit out the aftertaste. "Ugh. I'll give you that one." Katie closed the cabinet door and looked around the kitchen warily, as someone or something might jump out at any moment. She told herself to get a grip, that she was being ridiculous and there was nothing to be afraid of here in her own home. Nevertheless, Katie shuffled over to the large window in the living room and pulled the curtains shut so no one could see in. Immediately, the room was plunged into darkness and Katie's heart began to pound faster—closing the curtains had been a mistake. Katie fumbled around the end table for the light and turned the knob. A yellow glow brightened half the room and cast the other half in a weak gray light, but it was enough that she could see her way to the other lamp. Soon the room was lit again and Katie felt a little more comfortable.

Why was she so skittish all of a sudden? No one had ever accused Katie Fitch of being unsure of herself or being flappable. She looked around the room suspiciously and curled up on the couch. It had been easier than she expected telling her sister about the beginning of her ordeal. There had been a measure of relief at confiding in Emily, at first. But as she focused back and tried to recall what had happened, things had gotten fuzzy. Katie looked around the room again, her eyes settling on the mug just out of reach next to the couch. That was when she started drinking, just like Tuesday night when every time someone slammed a door or a car horn sounded or a siren's wail crept into hearing and then faded away her eyes snapped open and sleep proved elusive. Wednesday hadn't been much better, especially after having to go back for her car.

Katie lunged forward and grabbed the mug. It still smelled of the gin she had been pouring liberally the previous evening. With a shriek of frustration she threw the mug across the room. It shattered and Katie stared at the pieces strewn across the carpet and tried not to cry. She was stronger than this; she had survived and was okay. This sort of shit was something her sister would pull. But not her. _Don__'__t __fucking __cry__._

Katie jumped at the sound of her phone going off in the bedroom. She walked down the hall hugging herself and looked grabbed the phone. 'Emily Cell.' Christ, couldn't she just leave well enough alone? Katie took a deep breath and answered on the final ring.

"What'd you want?"

"Katie? Are you okay? You sound choked up."

"No. I'm fine. What?"

"Are you busy this afternoon? I was thinking about getting lunch at one, care to join?"

Katie looked around the bedroom she hadn't picked up since the previous weekend, thought about the smashed mug on the floor of the living room and the drawn curtains hiding her existence from the outside world.

"Katie? You still there?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, I'm here."

"So lunch?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, yes alright."

"I'll pick you up at one, then."

"Hello? I'm the one with a car, Ems. I am not going to be seen on that stupid moped. Do you know what that would do to my hair? It's like you don't even think about these things."

"Fine. I'll come over to your place and we can take your car."

"Whatever."

"Alright, well," Emily paused and Katie rolled her eyes, knowing her sister was thinking about asking how she was doing again. "Well, see you at one then, Katie."

"Bye." Katie pressed the end call button and with it disappeared the flippant attitude. Last night she had caved to her sister and it had taken her back into the break room fearing for her life all over again. Katie vowed to not talk about it during lunch, though she knew that would be the first thing Emily tried to bring up. No, that was going to be off the table. Katie wandered over to her closet. No time to worry about that now, though; only one of them was allowed to go out looking like they didn't care, and it was not going to be her.

* * *

"I met Tony Stonem this morning."

Katie choked on her water and brought her hand up to her mouth to stop herself from spraying it everywhere. Emily was calmly cutting up the larger pieces of lettuce in her salad and grinding small bits of pepper onto it, as if this was a perfectly normal way to start a conversation.

Emily had arrived promptly at one and waited for Katie to come downstairs. Other than greeting her cheerfully, Emily hadn't said a word as they walked up the street to the car. Then she had been totally silent, listening to the radio as they drove, and then besides aimless musing on the menu, she had hadn't said anything during lunch. Katie swallowed and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, trying to process what her twin had just said.

"Tony Stonem? As in—"

"Effy's older brother? Yeah." Emily took a bite, chewed it thoughtfully, and nodded in approval. Katie was still holding onto her glass of water, even though it was resting just to the right of her plate. She hadn't blinked or taken her eyes off Emily as if her twin had sprouted horns or some other deformity and was unrecognizable.

"Well? What was he like? I hear he's like, really rich. I haven't seen him in ages. Effy had that New Years' party our first year of uni and he was there briefly. But I heard he was in London."

"You seem to know an awful lot about him."

"No," said Katie, flustered. "I just hear things. You know, from Effy, and I read things. It's a novel idea, Em, to pick up a magazine or journal every now and then."

"You don't pleasure read, Katie. For Christ's sake, you didn't read a book even for school after Year 6. Anything you read about Tony Stonem was part of your job and that's only 'cause you're getting paid to do it."

"So what? And you haven't answered my question yet. What was he like? What'd he want to talk to you for?" Katie finally remembered that she had food in front of her and took a bite of her sandwich as she waited for the response from her sister.

"Well, he was nice, I suppose. Very well dressed. You might be right about the rich part, Katie. His suit looked like it cost as much as half my wardrobe."

"That's not saying very much."

"Ok half of yours." Katie snorted and motioned for her sister to go on. "And he's very much like Effy—his eyes seem to look into you but hide what he's actually thinking at the same time, and he comes off as very smart, but also, I don't know...like he's carrying out some plan only he knows."

"Em, I swear if the next thing you tell me is how fit he is, I'll fucking kill you."

"Fuck off. Naomi has nothing to worry about. He actually made me feel a little uncomfortable, like I was playing his game and there was nothing I could do about it."

"And that game was?"

"He wanted to talk about SSI, as if there was anything else that people want to talk to me about—"

"Now you know how I feel."

"Weren't you criticizing me for interrupting you last night?" Emily tried to look angry at the double standard, but found it difficult. It was almost as if they were slowly but surely bridging the large gap that had been between them for so long, with the enigmatic Tony Stonem providing the bridge.

"Whatever."

"Where was I? See, I lost my train of thought. Thanks, Katie." Emily gave her sister a fake smile.

Instantly, Katie replicated her sister's expression. "Don't be a bitch, Emily."

"Fine. I had him come down to an interview room and he already seemed to know exactly who I was, but I didn't know him beyond that legend-of-Roundview reputation he had back when we were going into college. And obviously being Effy's brother. But I didn't keep tabs on him like you. He introduced himself as a..." Emily fished his business card out of her bag, glanced at it and handed it across to Katie. "...an 'International Transactions Liaison. I had never heard of such a thing, so I asked if he worked for SSI, and he gave me this little half smile, like I had asked a loaded question and he wasn't ready to answer it yet, and responded with a question of his own—whether I wanted to know the real reason behind the standoff.

"Of course I did! But I was suspicious, clearly. Just because I had been friends with his sister didn't mean I was going to trust him straight away. So I gathered myself and told him I was more concerned with the 'who' of the case at the moment, and bringing them to justice for the damage and the death they had caused. This seemed to amuse him. He looked around the room and then back at me with that gleam in his eyes. He shook his head and then reached out and put a hand on my arm. 'Emily,' he said, 'I understand that you're skeptical of me, and you should be. But don't only reserve that skepticism for people you don't know.'

"Then he stood up and started walking towards the door. You know from experience that he couldn't leave until I buzzed him out, so I waited. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, as you can imagine, but he caught me off guard and I didn't know where to start. Finally, I softly said, 'You told the officer on watch upstairs you had crucial information for the investigation. All I've gotten are cryptic warnings and riddles. Please give me something to work with.'

"He chuckled and turned around. I could tell he was trying to pick his words carefully. 'Detective, we want the same thing—justice—and I'm prepared to go long lengths to ensure that is the final outcome. Something terrible has happened this week, you know it better than most. I hope your sister is doing alright.' Then he gave me another mysterious smile. 'Ask yourself: If whoever did this really wanted to steal SSI's money, why go through all this trouble? Why make the demands they did?'" Emily took a drink of her own water and waved the waiter off as he tried to take her half-eaten salad away.

"Tony seemed to think that was a sufficient contribution to the investigation and turned back around towards the door. I didn't know how to respond, so I went ahead and buzzed him out. As he was closing the door, I started to rest my head in my hands out of frustration and then he poked his head back in to tell me that he'd be in touch. Well that just made me even more perplexed, Katie. So that was my morning."

Katie was silent for a couple moments, thinking and eating. The waiter returned and left the bill on the table for them to take care of at their leisure. "So you do have his number, right? Cause if he needs to talk to someone who was there—"

"Do you think this is a fucking joke? Yes, for your information, I do have it, but I'm not just going to..." Emily's voice trailed off as Katie picked the business card up off the table and waved it triumphantly in front of her sister's face and raised her eyebrows in a haughty expression. "Ok so you have it. But I can't believe that you're more willing to tell Tony Stonem a personal account of being held hostage than your own sister."

"Relax, Ems, I'm not going to call him...not yet, anyway. Can't we have a laugh?"

"I don't know why you want to joke about this, it's serious, Katie. Look, I was thinking about going over to the SSI building this afternoon and taking a look around, see if anything catches my eye. If you want to come with, I think you could really be a big help."

"Shit, I knew it! I knew there was more to this than just a quiet lunch with your sister." Katie got up and started to leave the restaurant. Emily called after her to wait as she rifled through her purse for enough money to cover the bill, then hurried after her sister. Katie was half a block down the street when Emily caught up with her.

"Katie, it's either we get through this now, today, or I keep bugging you about it next week. Please just cooperate."

"You're going to bug me next week too, regardless of whether I help you today. You really can't do anything without my help, can you? Next thing I know you're going to be asking me to propose to Naomi for you."

"What?! How dare you." They rounded a corner and Emily could see her sister's car just down the street. She sped up and cut her sister off from reaching the driver's side door and pulled the extra set of keys out of her purse. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, Katie, but I want to help you. No, I need to help you. You're not yourself right now, no matter how good a show you put on in public. I saw the other empty gin bottle in the cabinet and I could tell you had been crying this morning.

"This isn't something you can ignore, ok? I am not something you can just ignore. I'm your twin for fuck's sake. Now please, get in the car."

"I'm not going with you."

"Katie, don't do this."

"No, you don't do this. You fucked this all up on Monday and Tuesday, and now you want my help fixing it. Well, hate to break it to you sweetheart, I'm done fixing your problems. You weren't in there on Monday. You don't know what it was like, Emily, and can never know."

Emily fought hard to bite back tears, but she figured a little emotion couldn't hurt her cause, and it wasn't faked; she was genuinely scared for her sister. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" Now Katie looked uneasy. She furrowed her brow and stepped closer to her sister. "Remember what, Em?"

"Seeing me. On Monday. In the building, when I found you and that guy in the break room and then the techs dragged me out. I said your name and you looked right at me." Katie was shaking her head vigorously, trying to deny it, but Emily knew that some of the memories she had repressed were coming back. Silently, Katie started to walk around the car away from her sister, her right hand covering her face. "Katie, where are you going?"

Katie looked up over the car at her sister and dropped her hand to show a partially tear-streaked face. "I guess we're going to my office."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all. Hope you enjoy the new chapter and so long as people are reading, I'll keep writing! Thanks and take care!

It had clouded over by the time Emily pulled Katie's car up to the police barricade still set up at the entrance to the SSI parking lot. A single squad car sat behind several brightly painted cones and thick plastic impediments set up like a slalom course to prevent anyone from driving straight into the parking lot. Emily rolled her window down and flashed her badge and ID to let them through, and the officer waved them past.

There were a handful of cars still parked in the lot from earlier in the week with various amounts of debris and dust layered on them. Closer to the building, several relatively cleaner cars sat grouped together as if by design—Katie watched several people mill about the cars, comparing notes and looking up at the building before wandering in different directions. Ahead, it was apparent that police tape was strung all the way around the building, clearly distinguishing Katie's office as off-limits and a place to be avoided by the general public; the one other police car parked on the wide sidewalk leading to the front door reinforced the deterrent. Off to the side sat a variety of construction vehicles and equipment with their own fence erected in the parking lot around them. On the second floor a large protective plastic tarp had been placed over the corner where the explosive was detonated.

Emily pulled the car up towards the front of the building, but well away from the cars of other investigators and inspectors that were clumped towards the side where the explosion had happened. She turned the key, shutting the car off, and as the sound of the engine died away, turned and looked at her sister. Katie was staring up at the building with a look equal parts trepidation, fear, and resolve to not show any sort of emotion whatsoever. Emily slowly reached out and placed a hand on her sister's arm.

"Katie, if you're not up to this...maybe this was a mistake—"

"No, we're here now. Maybe you should've thought 'bout that before you turned the car off, Ems." Katie unbuckled and quickly pushed open the door. Emily let her hand fall and turned to look out at the front door of the SSI building, vividly replaying the last time she had been this close...

"Emily! Hello? Are we going in there or not?" Katie was peering expectantly back into the car, one hand on the door and the other the roof of the car.

"Uh, yeah, right." She unbuckled as well and climbed out. Emily surveyed the whole building, vaguely registering that Katie had shut her door and had made her way around to stand just to her right. Emily looked at her twin and tried to smile, but couldn't figure out something to smile about. Katie shrugged and started walking towards the front door, leaving Emily to close and lock her door before trailing after her.

Katie slowed as she neared the police car parked on the sidewalk and an officer opened the front door. He walked purposefully towards her, clearly intent on challenging her reasons for being at an obvious crime scene. She flicked a glance over her shoulder and found Emily still catching up, her head down as she rummaged through her bag for her credentials. Drawing even with Katie, Emily withdrew her badge once more and waved it at the officer.

"Detective Fitch. Ms. Fitch was a witness and has volunteered to answer some of my questions about what happened inside. I'm her escort."

"Very well. Please use the stairs to the left, once you go inside. There's another couple officers making rounds every half hour throughout the building; I'll radio them to inform them you two will be upstairs."

"Thanks." The twins walked past the officer and headed to the lobby. Emily held the door open and followed Katie in, concentrating more on Katie's reactions than to the state of the lobby. Katie had taken one step into the lobby and stopped, looking around at the state of the lobby. Emily slowly came up even with her sister and looked over at Katie, biting her lip as she did so.

"This isn't what it looked like on Monday morning, Em. I...when did this happen?" Katie frowned and continued to gaze around at the disarray in the lobby. The security desks on either side were still standing; however, they were pock-marked as if hundreds of small rocks had been thrown into them at high speed. In between them, the plexiglass screens that usually blocked the majority of the open area in the lobby were covered by more marks and a couple were missing completely. Some of those that were still set up, besides having the smattering of small marks, had large cracks in them as well. The metal detectors had been knocked over and set up as barricades where the plexiglass panes were gone—the tables where Katie remembered placing her bags to be searched each morning had been up-ended and added to the make-shift wall now dividing the entire lobby in half.

"The techs set this up the first evening. It was relatively normal when I came in with the food late in the afternoon. There weren't all the bullet holes, either, obviously."

"Wait, bullet holes? When was there this much shooting in here? I don't..." Katie's voice trailed off and she looked down at the floor. Emily looked around the lobby and then back at her sister.

"Come on, Katie. Let's go upstairs." Emily started walking towards the hallway that led off to the left, but noticed her sister hadn't followed. She turned slowly and looked over at her sister from underneath her bangs, concern clouding her features. "Katie?"

"Why can't I remember things, Emily? I...I don't understand. I think I want to, but it's all..." Katie looked over at her sister with a mixture of pain and growing anxiety. Emily slowly walked back over to her, adjusting the bag on her left shoulder as she did so. "Believe me, Em, I want to help you. I may not have shown it earlier, but it's just hard, ok?"

"Ok. Can we see if going up stairs helps you any?" Emily shook her head slightly and shrugged her shoulders. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Let's give it a shot."

The stairwell door opened in the corner of the third floor of the SSI building. More police tape was visible, encircling the center of the floor where the cubicle farm had been broken down and changed into a crude fort against an incursion. Emily remembered from her brief time on the floor on Monday that they were diagonally across from the break room. She stepped away from the door so that Katie could pass through behind her and looked around slowly.

Glass covered vast parts of the industrial carpet-covered floor as well as some of the offices around the perimeter. Computer monitors lay smashed on the floor or sat decimated by gunfire on desks. Papers were scattered all over the place as was garbage that had spilled from trash cans upended inadvertently. Across from them, the corner of the floor that was directly above the site of the explosion seemed to sag slightly. It was obstructed by more caution tape and small signs erected on the floor. Shell casings littered the floor around the stairway exit they had just used as well as over by where the elevator door was set back slightly.

"It looks like a fucking war zone," whispered Katie. Emily looked back and saw the haunted look on her sister's face. She nodded and started to their left along the hallway that ran at the outside of the general cubicle area, trying not to step on shattered glass if possible, but that soon became a futile effort. The cracking glass under their footfalls echoed in the silence that hung over the floor. Here and there boxes and chairs blocked their path, but Emily carefully moved around or over them, trying to leave everything as close to the way they found it as she could.

Eventually they made their way around to the break room. Katie stepped forward and looked through the void where the clouded glass window had been set into the door. The tables had been upturned to face the door and windows looking out at the rest of the floor; a couple computers and phones lay smashed on the floor between the tables.

"When I asked to see if all the hostages were okay, the techs tried to avoid showing me this room," said Emily slowly. Katie softly pushed open the door and stepped in. Emily remained just outside the doorframe watching her sister look around the room and get her bearings. "I opened the door anyway and found you and one other worker—a man, kind of mousy? The two of you were bound and over there in the corner by the vending machines." Emily pointed over at the spot. "Then they dragged me out of the room and took me back downstairs and made me leave."

"I...I remember someone upsetting them and the door opening, but I don't remember it being you, Emily." Katie frowned deeply as she looked around the room. "When was that?"

"In the evening, around six I suppose. Why? You remember something?"

* * *

Yeah, I think so. I blacked out after they struck me on the head. But I woke up a brief time later, and they had dragged me over to that corner there, by the vending machines, where you found me I guess. My head hurt from where they had struck me, but there was a sharper pain in my shoulder from how they had bound my hands to my ankles. I was lying on my side facing the corner, so I tried to roll over and look at the whole room. Christ, it hurt so bad. I swore loudly against the pain and then one of the techs came over and kicked me in the stomach. I swore again and as I was, he bent down and he put this God-awful tasting cloth in my mouth. I couldn't talk and it tasted like absolute shit. Yuck. Ugh I feel like I can taste it again, Ems.

"So how long had you been out? What had they done with the others?"

Patience, Emily. Christ, you are the most impatient person I have ever met! Do you do this with every person you question? It's a wonder you get a confession out of anyone, let alone your sister. For fuck's sake!

"Glad to see you're back to your old self. Bitch."

Right. So they gagged me and I looked around, but I was still lying on my side and grimacing with pain, so I was squinting a lot and not really seeing things very well. Over there they had a couple people facing the wall with their hands bound to their ankles, but they didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. And, they had closed the door, which I thought was odd. But I guess it makes sense now, since they didn't want people coming in. I must have been out for maybe a half hour, not sure, but they had brought several boxes in and there was a computer tower sitting on the floor next to one of them. I couldn't see in the boxes, but they were labeled with the company that usually delivers our office supplies.

I struggled to sit up, and that struggling took a while. It wasn't helped by the fact that no one helped me. I'm not saying I expected them to like, sit me up and start taking care of me after kicking the shit out of me, but a hand would've been nice. Instead, they brought in a few more boxes and moved out the people that were up against the wall. They moved a bunch of boxes in there and a few more computers too. A couple techs sat down and started setting up a couple laptops just in front of me, but from my angle I couldn't really see what they were doing. I don't know how long I sat there alone, ignored, but it felt like fucking ages. I had a watch on, that really nice one that douchebag Taylor got me last fall for our sort of anniversary? He was such a prick, but filthy rich. Whatever, I couldn't see it with my wrists bound the way they were.

Then finally, they stopped bringing boxes and computers in. The two guys at the table there kept on working on whatever they were doing, but then three more techs came in and hunted through the boxes. Finally they found the box they wanted and took it to the other corner and parceled out its papers into stacks and started going through it. When they had finished, they took the box outside the break room and then came back in and hunted for a different one. This went on and on and I nodded off a bit once I think. But I was awake when one of them started cursing. He seemed really, really pissed. Then he and one of the others stormed out. The third guy who had been going through the boxes started chatting with the techs on the computers, but they didn't seem too keen to talk and he shut up.

The two returned with Ronald and forced him to sit in a chair with his hands bound behind his back. Seemed like they wanted to ask him some questions or something; I've seen enough shitty TV shows. The two of them left and the third guy trailed after them. He sat there looking around frantically, saw me, and his eyes got wide in surprise. Then they narrowed in suspicion and I could tell he was thinking I was working with them. I tried to shake my head and tell him otherwise, but as I was protesting my innocence against the cloth, two techs walked back in. I don't know if they were the same ones—they all were about the same build, at least it seemed that way from where I was, and they all wore the same sunglasses and masks.

One of the guys on the computers asked if they wanted to do this with an audience and nodded at me. Without a word, one of the techs came over and recuffed me so that I could walk, my hands in front of me. He pulled me up and tried to lead me out, but my legs had fallen asleep from being cuffed like that for so long and I stumbled into the last stack of boxes. It tipped over and all of a sudden I was lying in the middle of hundreds of papers with the corner of a box cutting into my back. I was lying right...there, I guess.

"Do you remember at all what was on the papers, Katie? What were they looking for?"

I know, Ems, ok? I know! Well, I had the box in my back and one of the techs was yelling at me to get up, I...

"Katie, it's okay. Don't worry about—"

Shut up! I'm trying, kay? A tech tried to pull me up and I struggled again. He fucking dragged me past Ronald and tossed me out into the cubicle farm. The tech slammed the door, leaving me in the hall...here more or less. I tried to stand up, but it was awkward. I tried to lean against a wall of a cubicle, and I was just about to get my feet under me when I felt something cold and metallic against the back of my neck.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Belated Happy New Year! Comments and reviews always welcome. Thanks, enjoy, and take care!

My breath caught and I felt my heartbeat pick up. I've never had a gun pressed to me before, but I knew that was what it had to be. A voice from behind me told me to sit down and then a set of hands pushed me down into a chair. The guy with the gun was standing there pointing it at me while another tech walked around to stand behind me. It was here, Emily, only this wall wasn't knocked over and the desk was still here with its computer on it and everything. They didn't say anything else, but just stood there making sure I didn't move. I tried to look and listen to what they were doing with Ronald in the break room, but the clouded glass meant I couldn't see and my blood was pounding in my ears. Then, the door of the break room opened and one of the techs in there leaned out. He said that they were ready, and the guy with the gun turned and went inside. I tried to see around them into the room, but it wasn't any use.

Finally, two techs walked out. The first one headed over towards the stairs in this corner, the ones you can't get to over there where the explosion happened. The second called after him to hurry up and then come back up to finish going through the papers while he made a call. Then he turned to me and motioned back into the break room. I shook my head and demanded to know why they wanted to keep me in there instead of with everyone else. I stood up slowly and cursed at him, asking what they wanted, but he just stood there. I took a step forward and found myself falling hard to the floor. I had forgotten about the tech behind me; he had come up and tripped me. They dragged me back into the break room and dropped me unceremoniously in the corner next to Ronald.

He had bruises on his arms and his face—like he had been hit with a rock on both sides as well as on his arms and the way he was tenderly rubbing his ribs, I figured they had punched him there too. I whispered to ask him if he was okay and he nodded silently, but didn't speak. His lip was busted and swollen as well, God I was so mad, Emily. I asked him what they wanted and he shook his head with a wince. I remember asking the techs that were in there on the computers for some ice or something to put on his bruises, but they told me to shut up and when I wouldn't stop, they gagged me again.

So I sat miserably watching them go through the last of the papers and it felt like I had been in there for ages. I mean, there's only so long that you can watch people go through stacks of papers. Jesus Christ, now that I think about it, I could never be a teacher. Papers all the fucking**—**

"Katie!"

Sorry. So, yeah, going through all those bloody papers. Then three or four burst in and said that they need to get all the papers moved out now, just in case. While they set about moving all the papers, one of the techs came over and squatted in front of us. He told us that if we made a fucking sound for the next hour that he'd kill both of us on television and not to call his bluff. I practically shit myself, Emily. It hit me just how serious these guys were. I don't know why it didn't when they drew their guns in the morning or when they gagged me earlier or pointed a gun at me, but when he actually said he'd, like, kill us, it was like a switch flipped. All of a sudden I was panicking like I was waking up alone, cold, and terrified in the woods again. I…I don't remember much for a while after that.

"It's okay, Katie. I think that's just before we came with the food. They wouldn't have wanted whatever they were looking for to be out, and they probably guessed I'd ask to see the hostages. Do you remember anything after I left? The explosion?"

Hold on…like I said, I started panicking and then I closed my eyes and tried to shut everything out, but there was yelling and the door slammed open, and I figured they were going to kill us. I didn't want to die, Emily. Then I remember getting dragged out of the room and screaming and trying to stay there, grabbing anything I could, but they were too strong and all the techs pushed Ronald and I into an office, over there, in the far corner. My breath was coming in quick gasps, and I was shaking, or maybe it wasn't me but the building. There was a roar and then silence. I felt like my breathing was so loud that my coworkers, wherever they were, could hear it, and my heart was beating so fast, Em. We stood there in the middle of probably ten or twelve techs for a bit. I was trying to sneak glances and look at them or see if there was anything distinguishing I could see, but the one closest to me jabbed me in the ribs with his gun and told me to look straight forward. So I was staring right at the door when one opened it and pointed at me.

_Leave __her__. __You __three__, __get __the __food __passed __out__, __but __take __the __pizza __out __of __the __boxes __and __hand __it __out __individually__. __Put __the __boxes __in __here__. __The __rest __of __you__, __start __prepping __the __floor __and __the __lobby__. __Shuffle __the __deck __after __dinner__. __It__'__s __going __to __be __a __quick __night__. __Take __this __guy __back __to __the __break __room __and __put __him __to __work__. __We __don__'__t __have __much __time__._

One grabbed Ronald by the arm and escorted him out as the rest slipped out leaving me and the leader alone in this office. I was right here, just in front of the desk. I was definitely shaking at this point, especially when I realized it was the same tech that had pointed the gun at my head earlier. I turned and watched him walk around the office over towards the window and crack the blinds slightly to peer out. Then he let them close. He finally came and sat down at the desk, staring at me. I didn't want to say anything that would get me killed, so I stared back. Finally, a tech knocked and opened the door. He placed a bunch of pizza boxes over there in the corner—although they look more like cardboard Swiss cheese now.

The tech left and we looked at each other silently again. After a bit, he drew his pistol and pointed it at me, leaning forward across the desk as he did so. I asked if he was going to kill me. Without warning he erupted in laughter. I was so fucking pissed, Emily. I didn't get it; what could be so funny about wanting to know if I was going to live or die? After a couple minutes of laughing while I stood cursing at him, he suddenly stopped laughing and yelled, _You __want __to __know __whether __I__'__m __going __to __kill __you__? You really want to know, Katie Fitch? __Here__'__s __your __fucking __answer__!_

And then he started firing his pistol over and over into the small stack of pizza boxes in the corner. I began screaming uncontrollably. When the gun finally started clicking and the top part was stuck backwards and it wouldn't fire anymore, he dropped the pistol on the desk. I stared at it for a moment, looked back up at him, and then I think I passed out.

* * *

Emily frowned and stepped slowly into the office as her sister ran a hand along the desk and sat down in the chair on the opposite side. Katie seemed to be playing idly with the handle to one of the desk drawers, lost in thought. The office was relatively untouched, except for the bullet-riddled pizza boxes in the corner. It was one of the few without any windows on the wall separating it from the cubicles; there was little glass on the carpet. The relative privacy and protection must have been why the techs picked it to wait out the explosion. Now, the blinds were pulled up, letting the grey light of the overcast afternoon into the office. Emily flicked the light switch, bathing the room in impersonal fluorescent light.

"Katie, are you alright?" Emily stepped farther into the office and crossed her arms against a slight chill that seemed to have settled over the office.

Katie looked up from the desk, a pall over her face; as if something had stirred that she didn't want to remember. "I, I don't recall much more of the night. It was still pitch dark when I woke up alone over there in the corner. The door was locked from the outside. Um, that's it."

"That's it? You don't remember anything on Tuesday morning?"

"No, nothing," Katie snapped. She tried to stop her hands from shaking and glared at her sister. "I think I've had enough. Why are you so convinced I'm not telling you everything? Just leave me alone, okay?"

"I know you well enough, Katie. And you're bothered by something. This was a difficult week for me too, kay?" Emily made her way around the desk and rubbed her sister's shoulder. "Let's get out of here, yeah? It is starting to give me the creeps."

Katie hesitated and looked up at her sister questioningly, but quickly nodded an affirmation. "Yeah, it's just weird being back here is all." With an air of finality, Katie stood and moved to the door. She looked around the room once more and then headed for the staircase.

Emily remained where she was, looking down at the dust-covered desk. It clearly hadn't been touched since Tuesday when the forensics people made their first sweep and picked up all the spent brass and weapons that had been left. As the whole building was considered a crime scene, it would take at least a couple weeks to go over everything thoroughly, and Emily knew that it would likely be in vain as she had noted the techs had worn gloves in addition to their identity-hiding masks and sunglasses. She moved slowly around the chair and pulled her hand inside her jacket sleeve, pulling open the drawer with which Katie had been playing. Emily looked up at the door suddenly, and then around the office, as if she expected someone to be standing there.

Emily looked back into the drawer and furrowed her brow. Biting her lip, she struggled between two loyalties: her personal desire to protect Katie and find out who had held her sister hostage clashing against the rules and proper handling of evidence that she was bound to by her job. Emily glanced back up again, then reached into the drawer and grabbed its contents, dropping them into the bag dangling off her right shoulder.

"Ems? What's taking so long?" Katie appeared at the doorway and her voice made Emily jump with shock. Trying to catch her breath, Emily shook her head and shrugged. She pushed the drawer back in and adjusted her bag.

"Nothing, just trying to picture you stuck in here…trying to piece it all together."

"Me too. Now, come on. Let's go."

* * *

Emily was sitting at the kitchen table silently, sipping at a glass of water when she heard the lock click down the hall and Naomi's usual, "Hullo, Ems?" echo throughout their home. Unlike usual, however, Emily did not answer, but kept staring at a chipped spot on the wood table. Emily couldn't stop replaying her sister's story over and over again, mentally trying to unravel its mysteries into a coherent mirror of her own experiences from outside the SSI building. Out of her peripheral vision, Emily vaguely saw Naomi enter the room and move around towards the den.

"There you are! Why didn't you answer? Emily?" Naomi put her bag down and returned to the kitchen where her girlfriend hadn't moved an inch. Naomi glanced at the pot she had used the previous night to make their soup—apparently Emily still didn't quite grasp the concept of putting dishes away after drying them. Naomi reached out and grabbed the handle, then dropped the pan on the tile floor.

The crash reverberated around the small kitchen as the pot bounced twice and settled on the floor; Emily jolted in her seat and turned to find Naomi arching an eyebrow at her. Emily shook her head and turned back to the table. Naomi put the pot back on the counter and took her seat across the table.

"Ems? What's wrong?"

"I took Katie by the SSI building today," she began softly. Emily continued to stare at the same spot she had been fixed upon previously as she spoke. "We walked around and it helped jog her memory a bit; she told me much more than I got out of her yesterday. But towards the end, she suddenly got cold and defensive. She refused to go on and tell me anything else and stormed out of an office. I found these in a drawer of a desk that distracted her at the end of her story." Emily withdrew from her bag a pair of sunglasses and a mask of the same type that the techs had worn. Naomi frowned and opened her mouth, but closed it without saying anything as she studied the evidence Emily had placed in front of them.

Emily looked up at Naomi. "Katie knows who one of the techs is, Naomi. And she's hiding it from me."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: This was probably the toughest chapter to write thus far, but I'm pleasantly surprised with where it ended up, I suppose. Unfortunately, about halfway through I realized Tim Minchin wasn't exactly the best music to be listening to for inspiration. Not quite the right mood. Shout out to Hootie as well as The Gallery for getting me back on track. Anyway, enjoy and take care!

"So let me get this straight," said Naomi as she stood awkwardly in the middle of their bedroom. She was trying to carry on a conversation with Emily as she scurried back and forth past Naomi from the bathroom to her closet off the bedroom. Naomi was still dressed smartly having not changed from work, but Emily was currently rummaging through her closet looking for a new outfit. "You're convinced that your sister is obstructing your investigation into _her_ being held as a hostage and your solution is for us to go out for dinner and then go drinking?"

Emily poked her head out of the closet and her eyes glinted. "Problem?"

Naomi pursed her lips and crossed an arm over her stomach. "I...no, I just. We're not in university or college any more, Ems. Drinking doesn't solve problems."

"I'm not saying it does," called Emily from inside the closet. She reappeared clutching several different items of clothing and wearing only a towel. She walked barefoot across the wood floor and tossed the clothes at Naomi. The blonde woman was caught off guard and instinctively leaned out of the way as she reached out to catch the clothes. Naomi straightened and found Emily standing right in front of her, an amused look on her face. "Maybe I just want to go out for an evening with my girlfriend. Is that a crime?"

"You're the one with a badge. You tell me." Naomi threw the clothes back at Emily and started towards the closet, unbuttoning the blue blazer she was wearing.

"If it was, I'd hardly self-report. That'd be counterproductive."

"Hmm. Where did you have in mind? I can't be seen just anywhere, you know." Naomi paused, turned around at the door to the closet, and pulled the jacket off. She looked expectantly at her girlfriend when Emily did not respond immediately. "Well?"

"What do you mean you 'can't be seen just anywhere?'"

"Oh Christ, Em. I just meant that if the wrong people were to see us out getting wasted, it would really hurt my campaign. It wasn't directed at you or anywhere you might have had in mind."

Emily felt the heat rising in her cheeks and the corners of her mouth began to shape themselves into a distinct look of incredulity and utter disappointment. Hugging herself to keep the towel in place, she spat back, "Oh because that's all that matters, isn't it? Your precious campaign. No matter how it fucks with our personal life. No matter that I've gone through Hell on Earth this week. You know, it amazes me that no one has kicked down my door at the station for an interview about how this tragedy has affected you and inspired you to action."

"You're doing this for a laugh, right?" said Naomi as she carelessly dropped her jacket on the floor. "You knew what you—what we—were getting into when I started pursuing this career, and you never seemed to mind before. As a matter of fact, I recall a certain someone pushing me into my first campaign whether I wanted to, or no. Now all of a sudden you can't handle it?"

"That was totally different and you know it. You can't compare a stupid school election to a campaign for MP that makes you plan out every breath and step you take!" Emily smiled sadly and, looking up to the ceiling, blinked away a tear. "Forget it. I'll go out on my own then. This week's been miserable and I need a release. I can only imagine how terrible it was for you, _minister_."

Spinning and heading for the bathroom, Emily spat the last word as if it could summon any one of a dozen foul creatures. She stepped into the bathroom and began to slam the door, but thought better of it. Wheeling, Emily shot one last acrimonious look at Naomi and fired a parting shot, "You know, Katie all but asked me today why we're not married yet. Guess I have a pretty solid answer for her."

"Emily..." Naomi trailed off as the door to the bathroom closed, leaving her standing alone fighting a losing battle against her emotions. Through watery eyes, Naomi sulked to the small circular window that looked out into the evening. In the dark window panes all she could see was a dark silhouette of herself framed by the lights of the room behind her. Behind this reflection the lights of other flats, front doorsteps, and passing cars swam and spread like orange watercolors on a canvas of black, deepening browns, and cold greys. Emily's words stung worse than Naomi would ever admit to the fiery redhead, especially the comment about their relationship. Naomi ran the back of her hand across the end of her nose, sniffling.

She hadn't meant to put off making that largest of leaps with her girlfriend of, what was it going on now? Ten, eleven years maybe? Naomi bit her lip. Well, when one looked at it like that, it certainly seemed a vast extent of time, and in many ways it was. On the other, though, it did not seem all that long ago now that they were first living together in the house her mother had rashly bought a week and a half before impulsively leaving the country to travel abroad. Wryly, Naomi congratulated herself on not be as impetuous as her mother. But certainly, there had to be a middle ground between spending ten years together doing nothing and making an impulsive decision the moment legislation had been passed in their second year of university.

They had talked about it then, certainly, as well as in the weeks leading up to graduation from university, but they had both had other things demanding their attention: Naomi plunging headfirst into politics and Emily dedicating herself to completing her police training as expeditiously as possible. The two of them had agreed the timing wasn't right. And no one had objected to their living together and acting for all intents and purposes as a married couple. _Not __entirely __true__, __though_, Naomi admitted to herself. The Fitches had objected half-heartedly to their continued living together after graduation, but had very little on which to rest their argument. Naomi hadn't even bothered to ask her mother's opinion on the matter—she knew that she would get it regardless, and after properly getting to know Emily throughout university, her mother struggled to find any compelling criticisms of her daughter's girlfriend.

Naomi allowed herself a weak smile as she turned away from the window and walked to the bed. Emily had that effect on people. She was always a bit shy upon meeting new people, but attending university apart from her twin had loosened her shell. Naomi had lost count of the times that Emily's inherent charm and warmth had opened doors for her with older members of the Party that would have remained closed if Naomi had had to rely on navigating introductions with her sarcasm and frequently dour perspective. Moreover, Emily's humility and ability to sympathize had been invaluable in providing the connection on a personal, emotional level that a strong campaign required; Naomi knew that she did not possess that ability herself and would have failed miserably before now without Emily. Naomi threw herself back onto the bed and let out a sigh. Why was it that she could see all of Emily's incredible traits and the shimmering aspects of her personality in the context of her profession, but seemed short-sighted when considering the impact Emily had on her life outside politics?

Naomi could hear the shower running in the bathroom and the fan whirring away as it tried to keep up with Emily's indulgently-long hot showers. _I __won__'__t __apologize__, __Naoms__. __Katie __used __to __steal __all __the __fucking __water__, __so __I__'__m __not __ever __passing __up __a __hot __shower __ever __again__._ That promise had been made the first night they moved into that tiny hole-in-the-wall that had passed as their first co-rented flat, and Emily had yet to break it. Without meaning to, Naomi found herself smiling again. Damn Emily for being able to both hurt her so sharply, yet make her smile in spite of herself. That had been a simpler time, when Naomi hadn't found herself struggling to correctly align her priorities and personal goals with her professional ones.

Naomi closed her eyes and clenched the comforter in her hands. How could she have let this happen with Emily? Why couldn't she learn to be more understanding and empathetic? _Because __you __don__'__t __always __have __to __be__; __that__'__s __why __you __and __Emily __work_, a voice whispered from somewhere Naomi knew had been misplaced amidst the chaos of the past week and months-long carnage of the campaign. Naomi's eyes snapped open and she knew exactly how to ensure that voice would not be silenced again.

* * *

Emily leaned back against the bathroom door and cursed under her breath over and over. Had she really just said that aloud? She cursed again and took a shuddering breath but it did little to calm her nerves. Slowly she slid down the door until she was sitting on the chill tiles and resting her head in her right hand. Emily squeezed her eyes shut as yet another round of tears began welling up. God, this week had been the worst! She couldn't recall being this much of a mess for ages. Emily remained on the floor crying for what seemed like days as she ran through the times that Naomi's career had intruded on their relationship.

The first moment that flashed to the fore was the phone call Emily had answered not ten minutes after Naomi's declaration she was running for her first municipal position in Bristol had been distributed to the local papers—including the print-only one that hadn't quite figured the benefits of web-based reporting. She had been with Naomi for the announcement and been bursting with pride that her girlfriend was going to be able to affect change in their home city. The small gaggle of news photographers (apparently the position in question hadn't warranted video-taping the announcement) had been snapping away with abandon and Emily tried to keep herself composed so as to not take away from any pictures of Naomi delivering her short speech and framing of her platform. The two of them had shared several laughs on the quick ride back to their tiny flat—still jam-packed with unopened boxes of trinkets and dishware—but the cheery mood darkened when the phone rang. Emily had answered it politely, only to find herself on the receiving end of a brutal invective about how shameful it was that Bristol had someone running who was openly gay. Emily had known at the time that the caller was in the vast minority, but as she hung up mid-rant, the knowledge that someone had searched out her girlfriend's private number to deliver such a spiteful message terrified her. Emily had hired someone to uninstall the phone line the next day, and the two of them paid extra to the cellular provider to hide their cell numbers.

Emily sniffled as she stood and walked over to the sink, appraising her tear-stained makeup in the mirror. _I __look __like __absolute __shit_. Carelessly, she rubbed away the tears under her eye with her palm and steadied herself with both hands gripping the sides of the sink. She stared at herself as another memory swam into shape. It was Christmastime, about three years prior. She and Naomi had planned on having a small celebration between the two of them on Christmas Eve, then driving over to her parents' small home a half hour east of Bristol to mark the holiday with Katie and James, who had been in his first year of college at the time. Emily recalled that she had bought Naomi a beautiful, ornate bracelet from some gypsies while at a symposium she had attended in Seville earlier that year. Then a couple days before Christmas Eve, Naomi suggested cancelling their private celebration and just exchanging gifts the next day with the Fitch family. Emily had been skeptical, but relented as it was just over a month from Naomi's successful campaign to become Bristol's youngest Council member in half a century.

Christmas morning, in her parent's living room, Emily had snuggled up against Naomi on the floor and, as James made a crass comment about Santa Claus's penchant for having young girls sit on his lap, whispered how much Naomi was going to love her present. Naomi had stiffened. She stuttered about going to get something from her bag in the other room, leaving Emily trying to answer her family's probing questions about what was wrong. Naomi had returned phone in hand curtly apologizing that she had to leave due to emergency council business. Emily clenched her hands on the porcelain sink as she relived the feeling of tossing aside the blanket, following Naomi outside into the biting cold, barefoot and in a sweatshirt and thin pajama pants, demanding an answer to why she was really leaving. Naomi ignored her until she had opened the car door and turned around, a pained and embarrassed expression apparent on her face. She admitted that she hadn't gotten anything for Emily because she had forgotten amidst the furor of campaigning and the media circus following the elections. Naomi also begged Emily to let her go because she couldn't stand to be with the rest of her family when the truth came out. Emily hung her head picturing her younger self standing mute in the drive, shaking her head as Naomi whispered good-bye and drove back to Bristol.

Emily choked back a sob, then failed to stop a second sob. She looked up at herself again and wondered what she was still doing. She felt the towel start to slip and let it fall away. Living with Naomi that winter had been nearly as bad as their second year of college; long fits of ignoring each other, spiteful comments muttered during previously tame meals, short conversations consisting of two-syllable (or fewer) words, and disinterested lovemaking. Emily turned on the shower and let the hot water begin to cascade down against the faux marble tub beneath. Quickly steam began forming, and Emily reached out to turn the fan on. Hopping into the hot water, she gasped and bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, turning the knob slightly to make it more comfortable.

A final painful memory shook free cobwebs and as Emily turned her face up into the water, she was transported ten months back to the previous summer. It had been unseasonably rainy last summer, and on this particular day it had been raining so hard the rivulets of water were falling slantwise in a fierce wind, spattering against the walls of the building across from the restaurant in which Emily had been standing. Emily had begged Naomi to block out a couple hours for lunch, playing coy when her girlfriend had wondered why. Naomi had agreed to work it into her schedule between meetings with potential campaign donors and even picked the restaurant, saying she would be there at quarter to noon. Instead, Emily found herself staring hopelessly out a window at the violent rainstorm at twelve thirty while the maître d' hesitantly asked every so often whether her party was coming or if she could give their seats away. Emily had continued staring out into the rain, fingering the Seville bracelet in her bag, and knowing that her plan to present it to Naomi on the tenth anniversary of the Love Ball had failed miserably. Turning and shaking her head silently, Emily had walked back out into the rain and let it soak through her jeans and windbreaker as she walked the several blocks back to the station without calling a taxi.

That walk had turned into a surreal experience for other reasons, but Emily hadn't been able to shake that betrayed feeling for a week. She knew Naomi was furiously busy during the day and had constructed a fragile conceit to justify the failure of her girlfriend to show, but Emily admitted to herself that deep down those events had always been stewing, coalescing into a simmering, roiling sea of frustration and helplessness with Naomi's career and its implications for them. And despite it all, Emily knew that in that boiling sea of malcontent was the bond that had been forged between them long before politics had tried its hardest to drag them apart.

Emily couldn't differentiate between her tears and the water from the shower, but she could feel herself becoming drained emotionally and, as a by-product, physically. Just standing in the shower seemed too much; Emily slowly lowered herself to the shower tub and hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing.

"I love you...I love you...why is this so fucked?" Emily choked out, trying to verbalize her feelings in an effort to make sense of them. Then, just over the constant splashing and hissing of the water and the whirring of the fan, an unexpected, strained voice replied.

"I love you too, Em."

Startled, Emily slowly pulled back the curtain of the shower to find Naomi awkwardly standing naked and crying on the bath mat. Her lip quivering, Emily stood and reached a hand out to help Naomi inside the warm water of the shower. Naomi took it and stepped over the lip of the tub, not bothering to close the curtain behind her. She pulled Emily into a fierce embrace, muttering an apology over and over until Emily interrupted it with a desperate kiss. In turn, their kiss was broken by respective sobs and small smiles. Naomi hugged her petite girlfriend to her again and whispered,

"I will marry you, I promise." Looking up at Naomi with a small light of hope flickering in her brown eyes, Emily thought about the bracelet that was still hidden in the bottom drawer of her dresser in the closet.

"I'm holding you to that," she said, yanking the shower curtain closed and renewing the kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

On Sunday morning, Katie Fitch found herself waking in a room she did not recognize and quickly shut her eyes again as a hangover greeted her. The pressure behind her forehead was growing and she felt drained. Trying to breathe deeply and quell any nausea that might arise, she rolled from her left side onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, but the sunlight stealing in from the around the edges of the heavy curtains only heightened her discomfort. Katie closed her eyes again. Behind her head, the pillow molded around her head and the bed enveloped her deeply. Katie let out a small gasp of contentment. The sheets were wonderfully soft against her bare skin—Katie's eyes snapped open a third time. She was positive that she had not been naked when she had gone out the night before. Tugging the sheets and blankets higher around her neck, she stared up at the high cream-colored ceiling and the sharp, deeply stained wood molding that edged it. Inset lights peeked down at her from inside their holes and a massive fan hung idly in the center.

Slowly, the weekend swam back into focus. After Emily had left on Friday afternoon, Katie had collapsed onto the sofa and tried to take a nap, but found sleep difficult to come by, her dreams plagued by visions of hooded men, shouting, and an endless maze of passages from which she could not escape. Her immediate impulse had been to go out and get royally fucked with a couple of friends from work, but neither returned her calls. Irritated, she had decided to go out anyway to a bar she frequented and knew she would feel safe. The night had passed without incident; the bartender noted her sour disposition despite her best efforts to mask it and gladly provided her with a steady supply of beer throughout the evening. After turning down a handful of invitations from hesitant-looking young businessmen to leave with them (she smiled remembering that she had gladly accepted their proffered drinks, however), Katie had the bouncer hail her a cab and returned home.

Katie turned her head slowly to appraise the rest of the room. A large window occupied most of the wall on the far side of the bed; thin sheets were covered by thick curtains covered in elegant patterns of indigo, amber, and burgundy. There were pictures hung on the wall on either side of the window, which seemed to be part of a set painted of fog-wreathed mountains reaching upwards into a clear blue sky. Katie cast her gaze past the foot of the bed where another, slightly smaller window near the far corner and adorned with the same curtains was responsible for the light peeking into the room. But she found herself bewitched by the massive oil piece centered on that wall. Following the motif of the two pieces of art on what must be the southern wall, this one's subject-matter was mountains as well; moreover, it was a specific mountain as well as its perfect replica on the surface of a smooth lake ringed by massive evergreens.

_Whoever __it __is __you __found __last __night__, __girl__, __he__'__s __a __keeper_, she thought to herself trying to figure out how much a work like that would cost. Quickly giving up trying to do math while hung over, Katie flashed back to the previous day. She had woken up around noon after sleeping off Friday night's drinks with an assist from her curtains, which were _always_ closed the whole way to prevent this sort of discomfort. Katie blinked several times, continuing to adjust. She had milled about for an hour or so, sipping at tea and nibbling at some toast, before deciding she needed some therapeutic shopping...and to get the out of Bristol. She had showered up, picked an outfit that would be comfortable enough for the train ride into London, but flattering all the same. _You__'__ve __never __dressed __down __in __your __entire __life_, Katie told herself proudly. Fidgeting in the king-size bed, she tried to stretch out as she recalled the whirlwind shopping for some new seasonal going-out dresses and ensembles at every haute couture store she could make it to before they closed.

Glancing towards the wall she had faced upon waking, Katie took note of the bathroom door left ajar to her far left by the corner intersecting the wall behind the bed. Beyond it, the bathroom looked just as well-appointed as the bedroom. Katie also surmised that the other two doors on that wall led to a closet and out of the room. She rolled back over and studied the imprint in the mattress from whomever she had shared the bed with the previous night. A simple digital alarm clock sat on the bedside table along with a modern-looking lamp that felt out-of-place in the otherwise traditional bedroom. But it was the picture next to the clock that held Katie's interest. In a moment of sobering clarity, the rest of the previous evening came back to her. The flirtatious phone call. The frantic attempt to find a hotel room to check into and clean up for the hastily arranged rendezvous—and have somewhere to which to come back afterwards. Taking a cab across the city to the fashionable, modern restaurant that spent more time arranging and decorating their entrée than cooking them. Leaving to go to a club down the street; being escorted directly to a VIP lounge. Electronic music pulsating throughout the building, lasers dancing wildly, and her dragging her date out to the dance floor.

Holding the sheet to her breast, she sat up and slid over to pick the photo, her mouth falling open at its subjects. The picture was of a teenage boy and his younger sister standing on the banks of the Thames with the imposing façade of Parliament loomed in the background. The boy had a roguish grin on his face as the wind tousled his dark hair. To his right, the young girl stood without a smile on her face, her long brown hair falling straight behind her slight shoulders. Katie noticed they had the same eyes, lit from within by some unknown passion; otherwise, the girl's face betrayed nothing.

"How are you feeling, Katie?"

Katie jumped and dropped the picture on the bed as the voice broke the soothing silence of the bedroom. She took a deep breath and picked up the picture, taking great care in placing it back on the bedside table. Once it was back in its original place, Katie turned to greet the man who had spoken from the door leading out to the hall.

"Jesus, Tony! I swear, you and your sister must've been awful on your parents, sneaking around like that. Didn't you ever hear of knocking?"

"In my own house?" Tony pretended to muse on this suggestion, pursing his lips as he moved silently across the grandiose Oriental carpet covering the wood floor. He sat lightly on the foot of the bed as Katie sat up cross-legged in the middle of the bed, still clutching the sheet to her. As he leaned in to kiss her lightly, he shook his head. "I'd never dream of it."

Katie quickly pulled away. "So this is your home? Isn't that a little more personal than we usually are?"

"I suppose. Is that a problem for you? I guess I was sick of marginal hotel beds when I have such a sublime one awaiting me—us—here. And those pesky check-out times...unacceptable." Tony leaned back in for another kiss, placing his right hand on Katie's left, and pressing his lips to hers insistently. After a moment he brought his lips up to her ear and whispered, "They always get in the way of a good wake-up."

Katie rolled her eyes and slipped her hand out from under his to push him back slightly. Cupping his face and patting it condescendingly, she retorted, "Then you shouldn't have gotten me so trashed last night. Hung over sex is no fun at all, sweetheart."

Tony laughed lightly. "I have the cure for that being cooked downstairs as we speak. Shall we?" He stood and extended his left hand out to Katie while stooping to pick up her discarded bra from the floor. She shook her head and pointed at the undergarment in his hand.

"I'll take that, thanks. See you downstairs, yeah?"

"Of course. Once you get down the main stair, make a right and the kitchen will be back down the hall on your left." Tony handed her the bra and started for the door. A final time he turned back and, nodding towards the cocktail dress laid carefully on a chair next to him, said, "You can either change back into this, or rummage through Effy's things next door."

"Thanks," said Katie. Tony just nodded and left. She spun and dangled her feet off the side of the bed, the rug just barely out of reach and quickly slipped her bra back on; she took her time standing and moving over to where a lace thong lay forgotten on the wood floor. As she regained a slight measure of modesty, Katie focused again on her breathing and easing the headache continuing to throb dully behind her temples. Before heading out to find some clothes, Katie ducked into the bathroom to find some drugs for the headache. It seemed Tony had had a similar issue when he had awoken earlier; a small bottle was sitting out on the counter with the top only partly screwed back on top.

Katie left the door to the master bedroom open and opened the first door on her right, assuming it to be the room Effy stayed in when she visited. She stepped inside hesitantly, feeling like she was intruding even though no one was there. The room was spartan compared to Tony's room: a low-standing queen bed covered in a simple white duvet and two white pillows was centered on the wall to the right of the door, the wood floor was bare, a simple light taupe-colored dresser sat facing the bed, and the walls were as naked as the floor, painted white. As Katie approached the dresser, she noticed there were two pictures set up on top of it, next to each other at acute angles. One was a print of the picture Tony had at his bedside. The second was a picture of her and Freddy. A lump catching in her throat, Katie reached out and brushed the photo lightly with her finger. She frowned and looked at her finger, which was covered in a fine layer of dust. Apparently Effy had not been here in quite some time.

Opening the top drawer, Katie found an assortment of too large t-shirts and some grey cotton shorts. Hastily pulling them on, Katie backtracked out of the room and closed the door softly behind her. The upstairs hall ran transversely across the house; Katie could see the windows looking out to the west in a room at the other end. There was a maroon and gold runner placed along the wood floor, soft and warm under her feet. Katie found her mouth falling open as she moved forward down the hall and the wall to her right gave way to an ornately carved marble railing stretching between pillars holding up the roof high above. On her left, another large landscape painting was framed by curtains held back by gold sashes.

Katie took a step down onto the landing at the top of the main staircase and slowly wheeled around, looking up above her where the ceiling was half-domed and depicted, in great detail, numerous eagles and hawks circling or alighting on the uppermost branches of leafless trees. Their wings outstretched and tail feathers fanned out for greater stability, each bird had been painted so precisely down to the last feather and glint off a shiny yellow beak that Katie felt she was looking straight through the roof and up into the spring sky. Lowering her gaze down, she found that the circular landing had two heavy-looking wood doors directly across from the stairs. Through the foot-wide gap in them, Katie could make out several plush chairs, table lamps, and built-in bookcases filled from floor to ceiling. Not one to read, Katie had to admit that it was still overwhelming.

From downstairs, the unmistakable aroma of bacon and eggs wafted up. Inhaling deeply, Katie turned and looked out at the foyer with a childish grin on her face. The stairs were easily fifteen feet wide; the marble railings from the hall upstairs dove sharply down towards the floor, ending in a tight spiral topped with a sharp point on either side. The runner also cascaded down, beckoning Katie towards the smells of breakfast. As she stepped onto the main floor below, Katie half expected to see sets of armor guarding the doors to the various rooms off of the foyer, but apparently Tony had better taste than that.

Large sofas, straight-backed chairs, and coffee tables with crystal centerpieces and neatly arranged books were centered on four tapestries. Katie gawked at each in turn, noting that if she had just entered the front door, the woven pieces would begin their narrative on her left and move counterclockwise around, ending on the immediate right of the door. As it was, she found herself standing at the foot of the stairs between the second and third tapestries. They seemed to be religious in nature, which puzzled her, as Tony had very little religious affiliation as far as she knew. But their grandeur was undeniable. Between the tapestries on each wall was a door leading to another room, and on either side of the stairs a narrow passage led further into the house. Remembering the directions Tony had given her, Katie looped around the edge of the stairs and followed the passage back towards the origin of the delicious smells filling the rest of the house.

Katie was not surprised to find that the kitchen was as beautiful as the rest of the house. Upon first glance, it seemed that there were no appliances, save the island range and oven, and the cherry cabinets and cases surrounded the room; however, Katie realized this was not the case and the wide refrigerator and dishwasher had cherry coverings to provide a unified appearance. Granite countertops ran the length of three walls and covered a second island. The back wall had been knocked out and a nook with three large windows and plush window seats surrounding an antique table.

"God, you have an amazing home," Katie blurted out as she entered the kitchen. Tony looked up from his tablet and shrugged modestly. Katie looked over at the small man frantically working in front of the range preparing their breakfast. "And you have a cook?!"

"Only in the evenings on weekdays and on the weekends. I know you aren't feeling particularly well, but I trust you can find something to eat out of bacon, eggs over medium, and muffins?"

"Yeah, I'll manage," said Katie quietly as she wandered over to the nook and looked out at the perfectly manicured backyard and gardening that surrounded it. "I knew you had done well for yourself, but this is fucking insane, Tony. Is all of this yours? Like, did you buy it?"

"I bought the house. Well, I suppose it's more accurate to say I'm _buying_ the house, as I don't own it entirely yet. But I mean to. I've made some investments over the years in some of the more decorative aspects and furniture of course, but the previous owners had lost possession of it when I was just entering university and it sat unsold for several years. I got it at a bargain two and a half years ago."

"Yeah, I'm sure 'bargain' is a relative term in this case." She turned back to face Tony. "You've never brought me to your home before; why start now?"

Tony put down the tablet and walked over to the table, sliding onto a window seat and looking out the window, deep in thought. "I met your sister on Friday morning."

'Yeah, she told me and I about choked to death. What the fuck was that all about? She doesn't know about us, Tony. Doesn't need to know. What does that have to do with you finally allowing me into your house?"

"Quite a lot, actually." The cook brought two full, hot plates of food over and set them on the wood table, returning a moment later with silverware for each setting and a cup of tea for each of them. Tony motioned for Katie to sit, which she did warily.

The night before, when she had called Tony, it had been because she needed to forget about her problems for a night; to feel wanted and desired; to feel a connection with someone for a reason other than pain and terror as she had for the past week. Tony's shift toward secrecy and talking around the issue had put her on edge. It should have set off warnings when she realized they were not in a hotel room as was the usual arrangement when Katie would escape Bristol and meet up with Tony. The clandestine dates had begun a little over a year earlier, when she met him at a gala event associated with the introduction of a new product line for SSI. He had approached her late in the evening and Katie had recognized him straight away, due to the piercing blue eyes he shared with his sister, and the disarming grin he wore in every photo shoot and interview piece.

"Are you going to eat?" asked Tony expectantly. Katie snapped out of her reverie and nodded. She slowly chewed a bite of her muffin and looked across the table.

"Well, answer my question, Tony. Why the fuck didn't I wake up in a suite downtown like usual, and instead am sitting in your kitchen with you and your cook eating what is actually _really_ good hangover food?"

"It's not safe for you out there, Katie."

"Yeah, no shit. That would have been prescient a week ago, don't ya think?" She took a frustrated stab at cutting off a piece of egg. Tony laid his fork and knife down and took a deep breath.

"Katie, I'm sorry. There's a lot I still don't understand, but I care about you. I'm doing this for your own good—I can't think of another way."

"Doing what?" Her eyes narrowed and that uneasy feeling was beginning to wash over her in waves.

"I cannot allow you to leave the house except for short trips and so long as you consent to allowing a couple bodyguards to escort you. You cannot return to Bristol on your own. Wait until I'm finished." He held up a hand to ward off her protest. "Bristol isn't safe after last week. Effy hardly visits anymore; you can either sleep in her bed, or with me. I do not care which."

"The hell you don't!" spat Katie angrily, noticing out of the corner of her eye that the cook had disappeared from the room. "Who the fuck do you think you are, that you can just keep me here? You don't own me, Tony Stonem. You're a fantastic shag and we get on, but I can take care of myself. Actually, that's probably just because I'm wasted every time I'm with you. I'll be going."

"I'm sorry, Katherine," Tony said levelly as she stormed out the door and back up the passage towards the foyer. She heard him call out from behind her, "This is not up for debate. I'm sorry for giving you that impression."

Katie snorted and rolled her eyes as her step quickened up the passage. When she reached the foyer, she realized that Tony had had no reason to rush after her: sitting in various chairs and on couches in the entry hall were four burly, bald men who Katie immediately stereotyped as ex-military. Behind her, Tony leaned against the door frame of the kitchen, his hands in his pockets and left foot crossed over his right ankle.

"Like I said, Katie, it wasn't up for debate."

Katie turned around slowly and fixed him with a furious stare, but its effect on Tony seemed minimal. He simply smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: The longest chapter thus far, but at its core the story is a 'who dunnit' and I think this gets us back on track. That being said, hopefully everyone has some of the same questions as Emily, maybe more, and I've kept you guessing. Feedback and speculation is always welcome, but without further ado, enjoy the second installment in our heroines' adventures this week, and take care!

Emily paused before closing the door of Naomi's car, looking up at the quickly forming rain clouds dispiritedly. She had about had enough with the spring rains, especially since they did nothing to improve her mood.

"Em, everything alright?"

"Hmm?" She looked inside the car to Naomi, who was sitting in her usual left-hand rear seat and arching an eyebrow at her girlfriend. The blonde shifted over to be closer to the open door, waiting for a response. "I'm fine, really. Just sick of this rain. Have a safe trip, yeah?"

"Of course. Don't go gallivanting off after somebody today, please?"

"When do I ever gallivant?" retorted Emily, a small smile crossing her face. She closed the door with both hands and leaned into the open window. "I should be telling you not to rile anybody up on your last day. Play nice."

"Are you kidding? Emily, I'm the nicest Member you've ever met." Naomi leaned the rest of the way and kissed her softly. "And the most romantic."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's the first word that comes to mind. Good luck! Bye, love."

"Love you too," replied Naomi, sealing it with a second, chaste kiss. Emily stepped away from the curb and Naomi rolled the window up as her driver pulled away. Emily took a deep breath and looked back up at the sky. The sooner she got to work and didn't get caught in the rain, the better.

* * *

Emily shivered and hastily pulled off her overcoat as the door to her temporary office in the first sub-basement swung shut behind her. She hung the coat up on an open hook attached on the wall next to the door and dropped her safety helmet in the corner behind her desk as the bottom of the jacket dripped intermittently on the industrial carpet.

"For real this time, you really need to get yourself a car," Emily muttered to herself. She cocked her head to one side and began to squeeze the water out of her hair. Small droplets of water trickled off the ends of her hair and darkened the grey carpet below. After repeating the process a handful of times and feeling satisfied she was as dry as could be hoped for, Emily shook her hair and sat down at her small desk, looking down at the blotter placed in the middle of it.

Immediately, Emily noticed that her write-up was still outstanding. She didn't have all the information she had hoped to include in it, but there was nothing to be had in it now. Emily knew that the Chief would be under heavy scrutiny to produce results quickly and each day that passed made apprehension and an acceptable conclusion to the previous week's events less likely. Emily glanced to her left where a small bronze placard sat facing her, the words 'Don't let perfect be the enemy of good' etched clearly on it. Emily had ordered the placard made several years ago after the first case she had been pursuing on her own was dropped due to the investigation extending far longer than the force could afford to support. Emily had tried to hunt down each and every witness, possible lead, and allegation that she could come up with related to a simple drug store robbery. It had stung deeply when her station's lead investigator informed her that the store owner was dropping the case because he could no longer afford his legal team and, after five months, its effect on his business was outweighing the good that may come of a conviction. Emily was lectured about the need to employ sound judgment and restraint in finding only applicable evidence, and to do so expeditiously. Thus, the reminder on her desk every day to not become overzealous in pursuit of a single goal.

Emily attached her write-up and some typed up notes regarding her visit to the SSI building on Friday to an email and sent it to the Police Chief and the two national agency representatives who had been assigned to conduct a joint investigation; Emily shook her head at the thought, since all of the legwork was being done by Bristol police while these bureaucrats occupied their offices and forwarded emails. In fact, Emily knew they weren't even in Bristol that morning, although it wasn't for a reason over which she could be upset: Naomi was hosting them the following morning in a follow-up to her address on Friday. As it was, Emily was not worried about an immediate response to her write-up.

The only outstanding item from the previous week complete, Emily tapped a pen on the blotter contemplating where to begin the current week. She wanted to get back in touch with Katie and explore what else her sister had experienced exactly one week earlier—Emily sat back suddenly realizing that everything had started exactly like this morning had, minus the rain. _Goes __to __show __you __never __know __what__'__s __around __the __corner_, she thought grimly. _If __only __I __had __known __and __could __have __prevented __Katie __from __being __involved__...__if __only __Katie __had __known __and __just __not __gone __to __work__...__either __way__, __it __still __would __have __happened__, __genius_. Emily blinked and tried to focus on what she needed to accomplish moving forward.

Just as she was starting to gather her thoughts, however, the door began to ease open and Emily was greeted by the unpleasant view of a man backing into the office bent nearly double, a briefcase in his left hand and smartphone held up in his right. Still facing the door, he shuffled backwards—stepping on his own shoelace and untying it as he did so—and placed the briefcase on the carpet. Shrugging off his coat, he finally turned to extract his arms from the sleeves and noticed Emily's startled expression. Awkwardly waving hello while continuing his phone call, Emily gave him a disbelieving further arching of her eyebrows. He hung his coat next to her shorter one and bent over to tie his shoe again, which once again gave Emily an unasked-for view of his ass.

"For fuck's sake, Lewis, can't you do that once you sit down? I didn't wake up this morning praying I'd get to have your ass in my face," Emily said sharply.

Standing quickly and flushing red, Lewis Adams leaned against his desk and awkwardly tried to tie his shoe while standing and holding his cell between his right ear and shoulder. He mouthed 'Sorry' to her, but Emily just rolled her eyes and turned back to her computer where the notes she had written up after going to the SSI building with Katie were still open, trying to refocus for a second time that morning. Emily added them to the notes she had transcribed at Katie's apartment on Thursday evening and quickly scanned back over them, mentally checking them against her parallel experiences.

Emily had developed a method of checking herself for errors, lapses in logic, and inconsistencies at the suggestion of a detective who had mentored her during her first several weeks of on-the-job training. He had recommended interviewing people and taking as many detailed notes as possible during interviews and statements and then setting them aside while considering your own experiences and the experiences of others involved. The third step had been to go back a few days later with a fresh eye and double-check to see if anything had been missed in the moment by overlaying the notes with your experiences. After her first independent case had failed so spectacularly, Emily had melded her mentor's method with her personal experience, adding a final step: compile a handful of critical shortcomings and unanswered questions to guide herself through the remainder of each investigation without getting off track. The method had proven reliable on the majority of her other cases, and even though she had never done a hostage situation or any case of this magnitude, Emily was confident it could, at the very least, provide a solid foundation.

Emily continued ignoring her office mate as he sat down and began sorting through the mess of papers on his desk, committing herself to walking through the SSI building with her sister in her mind and recalling the expressions and emotions Katie had displayed during their several discussions of the standoff. Pulling out the worn notepad she used for each case, Emily flipped through her bullet points on Katie's account of events, and stopped on a half-used page where she had scribbled some quick notes from Tony's brief visit. Tapping her pen in thought once more, Emily finally rifled through the notepad to a new page and carefully outlined six questions she still did not have answered.

The first thing that stood out in her mind was that she still did not have a good explanation for why she was left holding the bag and not one negotiator of any sort was able to arrive on scene to deal with the men who had held her sister hostage. Emily frowned as she thought back over the half-hearted attempts the Lead Negotiator and representative from the Office of Security and Counter-Terrorism had given when she had called at various times on Monday and then followed up with OSCT on Tuesday afternoon. She had felt incomparably alone amidst the furor and action going on around her, felt isolated and forsaken. The only support she felt had been afforded came from the head of the Special Response team...what was his name? Emily did not usually interact with them, but she added a separate note on her blotter to get in touch with whomever he was later in the week.

The second aspect of the standoff that Emily felt uneasy about was the media's involvement. Obviously they would have an interest in covering one of the biggest criminal acts to take place in Bristol since—Emily couldn't think of another comparable event during her life, and in the back of her mind an old song her parents had played occasionally about the lust news companies possessed for violent, terrible news voiced her own feelings. The standoff was something that any newspaper, television news program, or web-based reporting group would have tried to cover as soon as possible, so why had it taken nearly ten hours for the word to get out about the hostage situation? SSI was an extremely profitable company employing hundreds if not thousands of people in the area in various capacities, so the events would have been personal for a good deal of Bristol's populace. Emily leaned back and stared blankly at the door considering how often a robbery or shooting was 'BREAKING NEWS' only ten minutes after it happened; yet, when presented with the scoop of the year, no news program picked it up.

_Well__, __they __picked __it __up __just __in __time_, Emily corrected herself. That seemed too convenient to be a coincidence. In her experience, reporters either found out about a crime or investigation early on when someone—on either the law enforcement or civilian side—tipped them off about it (Emily admitted to herself as well that these tips could occur for a myriad of reasons and not always purposefully), or they did not find out about them until they were completed and it was taken to court or the Public Affairs people made a press release. Emily was confident that the Public Affairs people had not told anyone in this case; media just made hostage negotiations a bigger nightmare.

The third bullet point on Emily's list was simply 'demands.' The blink-and-you'll-miss-it nature of Tony Stonem's visit had raised far more questions than it had answered. Why had he chosen to visit her? Why wait until Friday and not offer his advice—if it could be called that—immediately after the standoff? How did Tony Stonem know _anything_? Emily rubbed her temples and tried to avoid going further down the Tony Stonem rabbit hole. Over the weekend, Emily had found herself idly considering his visit, but Katie's willingness to return so quickly to her office and the subsequent experiences she had shared weighed more heavily than the two cents of an 'International Transactions Liaison.'

Moreover, there was the painful revelation that Katie had gotten to know one of her captors and made a conscious decision to withhold that from her sister. Emily was no doctor, but she felt that spoke volumes about her sister's psychological stability. They had not been confidants for a long time—another admission that cut at Emily deeply—but she had felt that as the week had progressed, so too had their relationship, and that Katie may have been softening in her rancor. Until she opened that drawer. Then Katie threw her walls back up and Emily was on the outside straining to look back inside.

"Fuck! Shit! No no no—don't you...fuck," exclaimed Lewis, standing up and shaking his laptop vigorously. Emily was jerked back from contemplating her sister's state of mind by her officemate's outburst.

"I'm no expert, but I'm sure shaking something with so many small pieces inside fixes every problem," commented Emily dryly. Lewis stopped and sat down, passive-aggressively tapping at the laptop. He was a diminutive man, only a couple inches taller than Emily herself, with slightly unkempt salt-and-pepper hair and a large set of eyeglasses resting on a narrow nose. It seemed that the only thing he took pride in maintaining was his wardrobe as Emily noted he was wearing another nice three-piece suit. But that care did not seem to extend much further; his jaw and neck were covered by a weekend's worth of stubble, Emily had noted last week he was not the most careful eater (Emily wondered if that was the reason for his numerous suits), his efforts to obliquely check her out were part amusing and part pitiful, and his small desk was overflowing with papers, manila folders, and binders. Perplexingly, none of them seemed to be related to SSI.

Emily smiled ruefully to herself as her stream-of-consciousness brought her back to the task at hand. The demands made of SSI. If Tony Stonem had been any help at all, it was in articulating a doubt that Emily had felt the entire week: if all these 'techs' wanted was to rob someone, why not rob a bank? They obviously had the planning, capability, funding, and patience to do it, so why go out of their way to make Strategic Security Initiatives the victim of their crime when a bank would have been an easier, more lucrative target? Emily scrolled back through the transcripts of the phone calls made between her and the man making demands on the inside, finding what she was looking for over and over: references from both of them about his request for the release of SSI's financial records.

The intermittent _clicks_ and _clacks_ of Lewis's typing on the uncooperative laptop poignantly pierced the silence of the small office. Emily sighed and rolled her eyes, shifting so that she could contemplate her options while observing the other occupant of the cramped basement room. If Emily didn't know better, she would have sworn that her bosses had the cruelest sense of humor. They had placed her in a room with the only financial consultant in the building and in Emily's eyes, he was completely incompetent. Maybe she could talk to her boss or the agents from the national agencies that had displaced her from her upstairs office in the first place; get someone brought in from London. Emily shook her head sadly and made a note to return to 'demands' after addressing some of her other questions.

Emily had a hunch the next item on her notepad was connected in some way to the techs' demands—the obsession with the papers at the SSI building & how they got them. How long had they been planning this and impersonating workers on the grounds, if that was the cover they truly had been using? Work permits and the like should be easy to come by. If they were really that interested in the financial records, then trying to sort through the ones on file at the office would have been a priority. Katie hadn't known what was on them, but judging by the quantity of pages Katie had described, it had to be quite an extensive set of documents. Emily also knew that even if Katie had gotten a good look at them, that may not have been a huge help since the public relations representative for one of SSI's executives would not have access to the company's most private information. At least, that made sense to Emily for deniability purposes if it turned out Strategic Security Initiatives had been involved in something less than admirable. Then again, Katie was more perceptive than she let on. It was just another thing to bring up with her sister the next time they spoke about the standoff, along with the penultimate item on her list.

How had the tech known her name? Katie did not remember every detail of her ordeal, but even still, Emily figured she would have recalled them taking her ID at some point. If that wasn't the explanation, it could have been numerous other things, none of which were comforting. Emily could justify that it could be an inside job, someone at the company that had been fired, or mistreated, and wanted revenge. A bit extreme of a response, but Emily had long ago accepted that the people she was pursuing didn't always act rationally. Alternatively, and most frighteningly, it was someone that Katie knew independent of work. No matter how unlikely that was, Emily knew that it bore investigating, either by gleaning it directly from her twin, or through some other means. That could take time.

In the meantime, however, here was someone else Emily could try for information on the records angle. She circled the final bullet on her list and turned to her computer to pull up the directory she had had a couple young members of the force compile the previous Tuesday. Collecting basic contact information was a standard procedure, and the scope of this crime did nothing to lessen the importance it had. Finding the name she was looking for, Emily lifted the black phone from its cradle in the center of her desk and pinned it between her left shoulder and her ear. She carefully punched in the number displayed on the computer screen and leaned forward as the phone began to ring.

After three rings, Emily heard the line click and the person on the other end cleared their throat. "Ronald Yancey speaking."

"Mr. Yancey, good morning, hi. My name is Emily Fitch, I'm a detective with the Bristol Police. You work with my sister, Katie."

"Sure, yeah she mentioned her sister was one of the fuzz. You want to talk to me about what happened last week I take it?"

"Yes, sir, if you wouldn't mind," replied Emily evenly. She had noted early on that the more polite she was with the people she wanted to question it usually worked out better than threatening them with legal action, warrants, and the like.

"It's not an easy thing to think about, let alone verbalize, but I knew someone from your office would be calling eventually. I should probably just get it out of the way now, no?"

"That would be fine, Mr. Yancey. Why don't we meet for lunch?"

"That would be fine, Ms. Fitch. I would rather not discuss things in public; there's a deli down the street from my apartment. I'll get some sandwiches. I can give you the address—how does eleven thirty sound?"

"That sounds fine, Mr. Yancey, thank you. I have your address here. See you then."

* * *

Ronald Yancey opened the front door promptly, something Emily was thankful for as the rain had continued throughout the morning. True to her word, the directory on the SSI hostages also had his home address, and it was a simple matter of signing out one of the pool cars that the station had reserved for its personnel. It was a twenty minute drive south of Bristol proper before she found herself in front of a modest standalone two-story house with grey painted wood siding, a neatly manicured front yard rimmed by several hedges, the walk paralleling the drive up along the right side up to the front door. A silver Opel sat in the driveway. On the step next to the front door rested a wooden chest filled with plastic toys and a ball; Emily turned and looked at the yard after ringing the door and noticed a net in the furthest corner.

Emily quickly stepped inside and shook hands with the man who had spent several hours held hostage in the same room as her sister. His auburn hair was receding slowly, a carefully kept goatee framed a thin mouth, and Yancey's dark eyes appraised his visitor cautiously, taking stock of Emily while offering to hang up her coat for her. Emily judged him to be just under average height. She felt a sharp pang of guilt upon noticing the fading bruises and black eye he sported from the previous week. He wore a white button down, khaki slacks, and a gold and red striped tie.

As he placed her raincoat on a hook a bit farther down the hall, Ronald motioned for her to follow him through the living room. Emily followed steadily, looking around at the numerous pictures of his children and wife, and noting that while the house was nicely decorated, Mr. Yancey did not seem at all to be living outside his means. The pictures showed a happy family of man and wife—a pretty brunette a shade taller than her husband—and three children who had not yet reached puberty: the oldest, a sandy-haired boy, who was maybe ten; his sister who seemed to be antagonizing him in several photos on bookshelves and the mantel; finally, a second son who was barely one, if the birthday pictures were any indication.

"You have a beautiful family."

"Thank you. They're away; June took them to her parents house last week and they're not coming back for a couple days. I'm obviously not going back to work any time soon, and I've been talking to some friends in London and Portsmouth about interviewing for jobs there. I'm meeting with a job search firm this afternoon." He led Emily through the living room to a small kitchen in the back of the house; a large window over the sink and counter revealed a small backyard as finely kept as the front. Yancey gestured at a handful of sandwiches and settings at the table. "Please, sit down. This one is smoked turkey, uh, this one's ham and bacon, and finally a chicken salad."

"Thanks—chicken salad sounds fine." Emily was handed the sandwich she requested and sat down at the table, the living room on her left, with Ronald placing another sandwich at the place immediately to her right before heading to the kitchen to get drinks. "I'll just take a water, Mr. Yancey—"

"Please, Ronald."

"Sorry. I can understand why you'd be looking for a new job. Not sure I could go back to work after something like that. I don't know if Katie can either. I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened last week though, if that's alright."

"Of course. Where do you want to start?."

Emily paused to finish chewing a bite of her sandwich and pull her worn notepad out of her bag and set it on the corner of the table to her left. Ronald returned with the glasses of water and sat down, showing no signs of nervousness or trepidation. "I'd like to start with some background, I suppose. How long have you worked with SSI, what do you do, and the like?"

"I came to SSI six years ago working on a project for the RAF, um, logics for some systems on an unmanned vehicle they were working on that has since been scrapped. It was a funding issue, uh, nothing on our end. My degree is originally is Business Administration in Finance & Accounting; I also hold an Information Technology Management postgraduate degree, and have been taking night classes for several years related to computer engineering. Anyway, when that was killed prematurely I was transferred to work on, um, another unmanned vehicle, this one a project with a couple American companies for a joint aerial vehicle that could replace some of their aging drones. It was already well-underway on our end, and I helped finish up our contributions and complete the contract six months later under budget.

"Following that, oh I guess it was maybe four years ago, they made me project manager on a reconnaissance satellite contract we had won. Over the next three years we completed the design, research & development, um, and passed it on to another company for construction. A year ago I was promoted once more to Deputy Director of Personnel and Administration under the company's Chief Information Officer."

Emily stopped writing and took a long drink on her water as Ronald paused to eat. "So Katie works for you?"

"No, she works directly for the CIO, as Press Relations for the entire department, but he was out of town last week at a meeting in Brussels, and I, uh, I was acting in his stead."

"Kay. It wasn't your fault, Ronald, if that's what you're insinuating. Not your fault at all."

"I know, it's just tough to actually convince myself of that," he said with a steadying breath. "What else do you want to know?"

"Katie has related a part of her story to me, but there are some points I wanted to ask you about directly. I understand if some of them are difficult to talk about, Ronald."

"Go ahead. Look, people deal with things in different ways, and the whole situation is one I hope I never have to fully live through again; I live through it partially everyday when I hear a truck downshift and I flinch or I see a heist movie on TV or something similar. But if you're referring to these," Yancey drew a circle around his face to direct Emily's attention to his bruises, "I didn't take it personally, which has helped. They knew I was the person in charge and wanted some information so that they didn't have to hurt others. I could live with that."

Emily nodded slowly, mulling over his words. She noted the slight tone of respect he held for the techs and how he seemed to have quickly rationalized and suppressed the darker parts of his time as a hostage. "Yes, the physicality is one of the things I want to get to, but first I was wondering what happened first thing that morning. Katie remembers being in your break room waiting for you to address people and then getting hit in the back of the head with a gun. There's a gap in her memory there."

"Understandable. They hit her pretty hard..." He paused seeing Emily's grip on the pen tighten. She looked pointedly at him and he continued, "There was a handful that came into the break room and caught us unawares. It was the perfect time to catch the majority of people in the department in one location. There's usually a similar meeting on the second floor as well; judging by the other employees they brought into the offices on the third floor, they hit them simultaneously and ushered them upstairs. After they knocked Katie unconscious, very few people said anything crossways at them or resisted. It was unfortunate that she happened to be looking out into the bullpen when they walked over, otherwise she would have been fine. I'm sorry, that sounded exceptionally harsh."

"No, it's alright." Emily took a small bite and washed it down, shrugging. "Katie has always been one to pry. It's not surprising she wasn't engaged with whatever you were telling everyone. So they brought everyone up to the third floor? They didn't keep you all separated?"

"It seemed to me like we were all on the third floor, but I'm not completely sure. They put me in an office with maybe a dozen others at first, but after an hour I asked to see if everyone else was alright. They refused two or three times before one stormed in and dragged me around to five or six offices—'so I would shut my fucking mouth' were his specific words. Some offices had close to twenty people crammed around the walls and in double rows; there aren't nearly that many people that work on our floor. So my guess is they walked them upstairs."

"That leads me to another point. Katie mentioned that they were masquerading as elevator techs. Had the lifts been broken long?"

"You know, no. The previous week they had worked fine, but Monday morning one was shut down for maintenance purposes with some huge DANGER sign posted on it, and the operating one was limited to the first three floors. In hindsight, it was a well-executed choice to limit our mobility in the building and allow them more control over how we could get around."

"So you hadn't seen the techs around before?"

"I'm sorry, Detective, I wish I could say definitively one way or another, but I just don't remember, and that's the truth. It sounds harsh, but I don't pay much attention to the workers and janitors that work in the building."

"Thank you, Ronald. I have to ask. It seems doubtful they could have just walked in and known exactly how the building was laid out and how to manage all of you."

"I agree, but I don't have a good answer or suggestion for you."

"Okay." Emily flipped back over the notes she had made from her sister's expositions and nodded. "Katie said when she came to, the techs were sifting through stacks of papers and they brought you into the break room to question you when the search seemed to be unsuccessful."

Ronald nodded slowly, frowning. "Yes it was a long while later, maybe just after lunch—they took all of our watches by the way, and took down the clocks so that we couldn't see what time it was. If there was anything they did that bothered me, it was that. Not knowing what time it was made things drag on indefinitely. But your sister remembers correctly, they brought me back to the break room and led her out. Then they asked me why they couldn't find what they were looking for and beat me up a bit to loosen my tongue, but I honestly didn't know. They wanted copies of financial records from the company dating back years, even from companies that SSI merged with or oversaw the mergers of, and I'm not responsible for that."

"Who was?"

"I don't know. Someone in finance maybe, or maybe records? There's a part of the finance department on the second floor of our building and..." Ronald trailed off as a light seemed to flicker to life in his eyes. He took a quick drink of water and nodded several times, beginning to smile. "Records is technically part of the operations department, which has its offices in London. But our campus here in Bristol has been used as a repository for some of their old records for the last year or so, at first because they were running out of space in London and needed a place to temporarily store them while converting the storage space to computer storage, and then more recently because some things couldn't be converted to digital copies."

Emily had pushed her half-eaten sandwich away and was writing furiously. Now she was getting somewhere, and Yancey seemed to have an idea of where he was heading with this. Ronald paused to let her catch up with her notes and to eat his sandwich. In her bag, Emily's phone began to go off shrilly She ignored it at first, wanting to finish writing down her notes before they slipped away as brainstorms and insights have a tendency to do if not committed to paper right away.

"Are you going to get that?"

"In a moment." Not taking her eyes off the notepad, Emily leaned down and fished the phone out while continuing to write. She glanced down at her lap once the phone was out, and her excitement was brought up short. Quietly making a sound of frustration, she put down the pen and walked into the living room to answer the call. "Detective Fitch speaking."

"Ms. Fitch, it's Pete Morris. I'm going to need you to come back to the station so we can discuss your write up on the SSI situation."

Emily gritted her teeth at the pompous tone of Bristol Police's Lead Negotiator dripping out of her phone. Looking back at Ronald who was trying to riddle out some mystery at the kitchen table, she replied, "Can it wait? I'm a little busy, Pete. What's the issue?"

"The Chief isn't pleased at all with your representation of our station, especially my division, in your write-up. He wants to speak with us in thirty minutes."

_Shit_. Emily glanced at her watch and rolled her eyes. "Fine I'll be there. Bye." Without waiting for an answer, she ended the call and strode back to the kitchen table and placed her notepad into her bag. After hoisting it over he left shoulder, Emily reached a hand out to her host. "I'm terribly sorry, Ronald, but I'm needed back at the station."

"It's alright, Detective." Yancey stood and escorted her to the door, saying over his shoulder, "If there is anything else you need, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'll be out of town later this week, but here's my card. The home number works as well." As he opened the door, he withdrew a business card with SSI's logo emblazoned on it.

Pulling her jacket on and slipping the business card into the pocket of her jacket, Emily said, "Actually, I would like to finish up with a few more questions tomorrow if that's alright."

"Absolutely. Late morning works best for me." They shook hands a last time and Emily quickly shuffled through the rain towards her unmarked car parked in the street. Holding the door open, Ronald called after her, "Oh, Detective, I was going to say..."

Emily turned around at the bottom of the driveway. "Yes, Ronald?"

"It makes sense now why they restricted us to the first three floors. All of the SSI records at our site were kept on the fourth."


	11. Chapter 11

"The Speaker recognizes the Honourable Member for Bristol."

Naomi stood shakily and looked around at the chamber of the House of Commons, filled to capacity with her fellow Members, media representatives leaning over the railing above, eager for a soundbite to complete their coverage of the final day of the session, and the full public gallery. All eyes in the large room swiveled and rested upon her as she tried to stand stoically and gather herself in the second-to-last row on the Government side. The more senior members of her party and the majority party turned in their spots on the traditional green cushioned benches, fixing her with unreadable looks. All around her, the beautifully wood-paneled walls and carefully carved accents and venerable hanging light fixtures seemed to crowd closer and closer. Naomi took a deep breath and weaved her fingers together in front of her.

"Thank you, Mr. Speaker. The last week has been a trying time for our country. Forces we are still struggling to comprehend challenged the resolve of our public servants, the bonds of our communities, the credibility of our businesses, and the familial ties that we all hold dear. We have been again reminded of the fragility of the lives we live. Reminded of the instantaneous nature of changes and how, no matter how much we anticipate bad things happening, we cannot anticipate everything."

Naomi separated her hands and emphatically sliced her hand through the air in front of her. "But the time for sitting idly by has passed. We not be able to foresee every peril that may befall us on the road ahead, but that is not an excuse for standing pat and hoping that the current measures, so painfully shown to be inadequate, will succeed in the future." Naomi looked up at the public gallery where several prominent members of Bristol's regional government had made sure to arrive early and get premium seats in the lowest level of the gallery. They were leaning forward, nodding emphatically along with her speech. A surge of confidence washed over her and Naomi continued to gaze up at the other citizens around them.

"And if you are enticed to entertain the fantasy that it cannot happen to you, that flukes will happen and there is nothing to be done against them, then I submit to you, Mr. Speaker, that tempting fate like that is commensurate to an invitation—an invitation to the twisted people that take our citizens hostage, hold companies for ransom, and threaten our law enforcement agents to continue pursuing their terrible goals. I will admit, there was a time when I held something similar to such a view. I believed that the long, dark tendrils of violence and terror of the kind we hear about in foreign nations and read about in stories and see in movies would never intertwine around me and threaten to tear me from the people I care about most. I was more naïve then, but no longer.

"Today, and every day after, we must undertake every effort to cut off those dark tendrils and to shrink the source of them. We must take the fight to complacency in the face of evidence of our shortcomings. We must reverse the trend toward dismissing those on the fringe. We must give those who protect us the appropriate tools to continue that valiant occupation. Most importantly of all, Mr. Speaker, we must carry a singular message to all of our constituents in these coming days, and beyond, for it is an apolitical message we must bear. It is not one tied to a specific party or person or election cycle. It is a timeless message that has been forgotten and allowed to gather grime and grit in the gutters of our streets as we walk past in determined ignorance."

Naomi inhaled sharply, her eyes flashing in excitement. The media was clamoring over one another with phones and small recording devices outstretched in the gallery above and to her right; to her left, Naomi saw most of the public standing and straining to hear and see her. She reached out her hands, beckoning to every member of the chamber, and looked back to the Speaker.

"And that message, Mr, Speaker, is that there are good people in this country that will not stand for the disregard of the law. There are good people in this country that will do everything in their power to ward back the corrupting influence of evil in our communities, cities, and neighborhoods. There are good people that do not believe the status quo is good enough. There are good people that will brave the trials and tribulations this world presents them and do so with pride and dedication to overcoming them for the betterment, not only of themselves, but whomever else they can lift up along with them.

"These good people constitute the overwhelming majority of the citizens of this nation and this Commonwealth, and good people will be silent no longer!" finished Naomi with a flourish, slamming her hands down onto the back of the sturdy wooden bench in front of her.

All around her the other Members of the Government rose, their simultaneous cheers joining those raining down from the public gallery, which had gone from silent with anticipation to raucous and wild in a split second. Naomi was pummeled by her fellow junior members and those next to her as they clapped her on the back and squeezed her arms in congratulations. She caught the gaze of the Prime Minister who was turned and openly applauding her. Looking up, she saw many members of the media furiously scribbling notes for their stories, but an equally large number had joined in the furor, whistling and cheering. Across the chamber, most of the Opposition was standing and politely clapping, but Naomi spied several with unabashed grins on their faces as they looked across at her.

Decorum had been lost for several minutes as the applause continued. The Speaker stood silently, allowing the noise to die off naturally. After nearly five minutes, the members of her own party and the others in the coalition had finally begun to sit back down, but Naomi remained standing, staring at the Speaker, waiting to say her final piece. Finally, when the only sounds were reporters dictating into their recorders, she cleared her throat and smiled.

"Mr. Speaker, I make a motion to adjourn this session of Parliament."

"Seconded!" shouted three other MPs simultaneously.

"That is in order," replied the Speaker evenly. "All in favor of adjourning?"

"AYE!"

"Those against?" This query was met with silence. "This session is adjourned!"

The chamber erupted a second time and cameras began flashing as members shook hands and congratulated one another on the completion of the session. Naomi sat down and tried to catch her breath, smiling weakly as her colleagues continued to congratulate her. As she tried to steady her breathing and halt her left leg from shaking, Naomi felt a piece of paper get pressed into her hand. Furrowing her brow, she unfolded it to read, 'CIO of SSI invited you to lunch at noon. I accepted—Erik.'

"Wonderful," Naomi muttered under her breath. Looking at her watch, she crumpled up the paper and stood to make her way out of the chamber.

* * *

Emily rushed through the back door of the station, flashed her badge, and tossed the keys of the car she had taken to the guard sitting behind a large counter who was in the middle of asking for the now-airborne keys. She pushed through the plated door on the inside of the antechamber and turned right down the hall towards the Police Chief's corner office. On her left, the main squad bay filled with small desks and rolling whiteboards covered in notes, plans, and schedules extended towards the front of the building. As she walked, Emily shrugged off her slick raincoat, a trail of marks on the floor behind her growing with each drop that fell from the bottom of the coat.

Ahead she could see Morris standing with his arms crossed outside the door to the Chief's office. Emily felt her skin get hot just seeing him. They had butted heads previously over trivial matters like the use of interview rooms and requisition of other assets and equipment that was property of the station, but the tone he had used on the phone indicated this situation was more personal. Truth be told, Emily had known he had thin skin, but that had not factored into her write-up at all; the write-up was her representation of the events as clearly and truthfully as she could remember them. And that had included her description of what she perceived was a shirking of their duties by the negotiators. A relatively junior detective should never have to blindly fumble their way through such a tedious set of negotiations. On that issue, Emily felt there was no room for disagreement. But judging by the smug sound of Morris's voice and his body language as she approached, Emily knew he thought otherwise.

Without shaking his extended hand, Emily glared at him and veered to her right, pushing open the door to the Chief's office. The office felt sterile, with mostly bare walls and metal-legged chairs positioned at angles in front of a cheap but reliable desk. A previous generation computer sat on one side of the desk, the tower hidden by the front side of the desk; a small sharply angled desk lamp cast a weak light across a portion of the desk. The only pictures hung were certificates and appointments that were framed and displayed on the far wall.

The Chief of Bristol's police looked up from a print out that he was reading, jaw working furiously with a piece of gum. His large head was shaved smooth, thick eyebrows jutted out over dark eyes, and an equally thick black mustache lined his upper lip. As Emily burst into the room, he balled a meaty hand into a fist and smashed it down on the desk, rattling several ballpoint pens in their holder and shaking the small desk lamp.

"Goddamnit, Fitch! How many times do I have to ask you to knock?"

Emily shrugged and stood behind the chair to her right, allowing Morris to file in behind her and take the chair closer to the door. "Morris made it sound like you needed to see us urgently. Didn't want to hold you up."

"There's a difference between urgency and showing some respect, Detective," he growled, jaw working continuously. "Sit down."

"I'll stand, Chief," replied Emily coldly. The less time she spent in this office the better.

"I'll sit," offered Morris, sliding into the other chair with a small smile. His thick brown hair was carefully slicked over to one side and he leaned back in the chair, drawing his left foot up and placing it over his right knee. "What's the issue, Chief?"

Glowering, the Chief picked up a handful of the papers in front of him and waved them in the air. "The issue? The issue is this. Fitch! What is this?"

"I suspect it's my write-up for the SSI standoff. I emailed it to you this morning, Chief."

"Well, you suspect correctly. And while it's incredibly detailed, I have some questions about a few points."

"Fine. Fair warning, Chief, all my answers will be the same as what's typed up in there. I don't pull punches or sugarcoat things." Emily shrugged slightly. "That's never been an issue in the past."

"In the past you never slandered this station or police force in a memo sent to Home Security personnel."

"What?!"

"Allow me, Chief," interrupted Morris. He extended a hand for the Police Chief to hand him the write-up. Once he had it and had flipped forward to the passage he was looking for, Morris flicked his eyes up towards Emily to make sure she was paying attention and then cleared his throat. "'At approximately 1130, I received a cell phone call on my personal line from Pete Morris, Lead Negotiator, Bristol Police. He informed me that I, a junior detective with minimal negotiating experience of any kind, would be the only on-scene negotiator at least until the evening of the Monday in question because the negotiators in his division were otherwise occupied and would not be available until later. When pressed about his whereabouts, Mr. Morris said that he was similarly unable to be on-scene, despite being unable to provide a suitable reason for his absence.' Let's see," Morris scanned the page further and flipped to the next page. Tracing his finger down each line, he finally found the one for which he was searching.

"And then later on, 'After ending the phone call with the hostage taker, I immediately called the station to relay the demands up the appropriate chains of command. It having been less than an hour since my previous call, Mr. Morris again spoke to me, instructing me that the Bristol Police do not negotiate with terrorists and I was not, under any circumstance, to supply the things they requested. I again insisted that he or another trained negotiator be freed from their other duties to relieve me; nevertheless, Mr. Morris hastily denied my request and added that he was talking with a colleague with the National Crime Agency who would send a negotiating specialist at their earliest convenience. With that he hung up and Mr. Morris and I would not speak again until much later that evening when the deadline for the hostage taker's demands was almost up. It seems that the earliest convenience of Mr. Morris's colleague has not yet been arrived upon; he failed to arrive on scene at any time before, during, or after the situation was ended by a raid on the building the next morning.'"

Morris uncrossed his legs and put the write-up back on the desk in front of the Police Chief. He smiled wickedly at Emily. "That is what the Chief is talking about."

"There is nothing false in any of those statements!" Emily gripped the back of the chair firmly. "Fine, so maybe the very end was snide. Like I said, Chief, I don't pull punches, and if Morris's problem is with me telling the truth, then he can fuck off."

"Watch your language, Detective," said the Chief slowly. He wagged a thick finger in the petite red-head's direction and kept chewing. "You have a commendable service record and you do turn in good work...usually. But this is out of line and you can clean up the attitude about it right now. And don't fucking roll your eyes!" Emily quickly opened her mouth to object, but the Chief resumed, "I'm allowed to curse in here. It's my bloody office after all.

"Now, there are two issues at stake here. The first is internal. Did you consult Mr. Morris at all during your write-up?"

"Of course not, Chief. I don't consult anyone else about any of my write-ups."

"Maybe if you had, we would not be sitting here today, Detective," said Morris icily.

The fist came down again and the Chief's face turned pink. "Did I ask your opinion, Morris?!"

"No, Chief."

"Goddamn right. Fitch, this situation—and your write-up by extension—are not your everyday case. This is something much bigger than you or Morris or even myself. Maybe you should have considered that when you wrote your write-up. Which leads me into the second point. You sent this off to people at OSCT and NCA without vetting it through me first. How do you think that makes me look? How does that make our station look?

Emily squeezed harder on the chair, trying to keep her frustration and anger under control. On her left, Morris was looking up expectantly. She glared at him and turned back to the Chief. "I suppose it makes us look like we're not on the same page and there's very little understanding of discipline and adherence to a chain of command."

"Goddamn right!"

"So really, I'm just giving them an accurate representation of how our station handled this situation."

"Wha—How—What," sputtered the Chief, his cheeks reddening He clamped his mouth shut and worked twice as hard on his gum. Morris's mouth fell open slightly. Composing himself, the Police Chief directed his now-quivering finger towards the slick negotiator. "Morris assures me that he and his division did everything in their power to assist you and that there truly was no way to get anyone to the SSI site in time to take over for you. That makes what you wrote not only rude in a professional sense, but also false."

"And you believe him?!"

"You're Goddamn right I do!" screamed the Chief as he stood, his face and smooth scalp going three shades past cerise. In the hall outside, several officers stopped and looked fearfully at the corner office before scurrying away to do some other errand that would not require their presence in that area of the squad bay.

The Chief smoothed out his uniform and sat down in his chair. Morris had affected a smirk that Emily would have killed to slap off immediately. Her thoughts of vengeance were interrupted, however, by the Chief addressing her in a more level voice.

"Detective Fitch, take the rest of the day off. Be prepared to have a long discussion with our counterparts at OSCT and NCA when they get out here later this week. They'll want a clear explanation of exactly what happened, and you had better be damn sure that they will hear that our station executed all of its protocols properly and worked like a finely tuned machine to conduct a successful hostage-involved standoff. Is that clear?"

Emily nodded, not trusting herself to stop talking if she opened her mouth.

"Then you are both dismissed and I expect a wider range of cooperation between your two divisions in the future."

Morris grandly gestured for her to exit the office first before standing and smoothing his navy blue jacket and grey tie. Emily gritted her teeth and exited, staring straight ahead and stalking towards the elevators. Behind her, Morris pulled the office door closed, the blinds on the inside rattling lightly.

"Sorry about the confusion, Detective. Hopefully we can have a successful working relationship going forward."

"Fuck off, Pete," retorted Emily over shoulder. She could hear him chuckle lightly in return.

"Ms. Fitch, a moment if you don't mind?"

_Christ__, __who __is __it __now__?_ Emily wheeled and saw a tall, clean cut man in a Bristol Police windbreaker, utility pants, and combat boots standing in the doorway of an office. In her red-tinged sight, it took Emily a moment to recognize the head of Special Response that had been one of her few allies throughout the previous Monday and Tuesday. The nameplate on the door read _Officer __Christopher __Smith_.

"I'm not in the best of moods right now, Officer Smith."

"I understand. I just wanted to let you know that if there's anything you need, please let me know. Whatever it is that they choose to believe, it was you and I out there in that parking lot. Not them."

Emily smiled weakly. "Thanks. I appreciate that, and I will. Good to know someone else here is on my side."

"Not just me, Detective. The whole team thought you handled it pretty well. Don't let them get you riled up, alright?"

"I won't. Thanks again."

"You're Minister Campbell's girlfriend right?" When Officer Smith received a wary nod, he smiled broadly. " I don't know if you've seen the news, but she brought the house down at the close of their session today."

"Is that right? Well, if you'll excuse me, Officer Smith, it seems I have some things to check up on." With that, Emily turned and headed for the elevator to get her things. And find a video of her girlfriend's speech.

* * *

Naomi was surprised she did not have to wait for her lunch partner. She had become accustomed to arriving on time to working lunches, or meetings with campaign donors that masqueraded as lunches, and waiting for at least a half hour as if her time meant nothing to those with whom she was meeting. Apparently the Chief Information Officer shared her punctuality. He was standing in the waiting area of the restaurant, one Naomi was familiar with as it was a familiar haunt for Members of Parliament and other government types. He saw her enter and strode over confidently, hand thrust forward.

"Ms. Campbell, it is a pleasure. Osbourn Ross, CIO of Strategic Security Initiatives. I'm not sure if you've seen or heard any news on your way, but they're already calling it the 'Good People' speech. My secretary told me as I was leaving that it was trending on that Twitter. Congratulations on completing a successful first term as a Member."

Naomi shook his hand and allowed a small smile. Long ago she had learned to tune out the outpouring of platitudes that lobbyists and potential campaign donors offered when they met. "That's very kind of you. I'm glad people are listening for once. Maybe there can be a silver lining to this terrible turn of events."

"Yes, that is my hope too. And those dark clouds cannot move quickly enough for me."

The hostess approached and invited them to follow her into the seating area. As they walked between small circular tables draped with pristine white silk tablecloths and past black modern-looking booths, Naomi filtered out more attempts by Ross to ingratiate himself to her. She stepped up into a booth in a far corner of the restaurant, sliding far enough so that the hostess could draw a privacy curtain across the front of the booth. It was the privacy afforded each booth that had made this restaurant such a popular destination for Naomi and her colleagues. Naomi opened the menu and pretended to scan it as Ross continued extolling the great things he thought she had accomplished in her short time in Parliament.

Finally, Naomi snapped shut the menu and folded her arms over it on the table. Leaning forward slightly, she interrupted Ross, "What is it you want from me, exactly? This isn't a lunch to toast me having a fine couple years and then for you to tip your hat and walk away with a general election in seventeen days. So what is it you want, Ross?"

The man across the booth sat back, startled. He frowned and tapped the fingers of his left hand on the table. "Do you have to be so blunt, Ms. Campbell?"

"Do you have to be such a brown-nosing prick?"

Letting out a long breath, Ross replied, "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I want to help you. Like you said, you have a general election in seventeen days. You'll need to continue raising money to fund that campaign, which is where I come in."

"You can't buy me, Ross," Naomi said flatly. "People have tried. Doesn't work. I have these things called principles—I hear the longer you're in business, the more likely you are to lose them."

"Osbourn wouldn't dream of trying to buy you, Minister. He's just struggling to find a way to make his company a viable political force again, after last week's embarrassing events," announced a strong voice just outside the booth. The curtain was thrown back and Naomi felt herself mentally scrambling to figure out why this stranger who had interrupted their lunch seemed so familiar. As he smoothly sat down next to the SSI executive, she finally realized it was the eyes. "See, you're a hot commodity these days, and if SSI legitimately backs a winning horse, they'll have someone to voice their cause in Parliament when all these pesky investigations wrap up. In fact, you should be personally familiar with one of them yourself, Ms. Campbell."

"Sorry?" Naomi stared back at the newcomer as he gave her a conspiratorial look. Then finally the I've-seen-you-before tingles surged down her spine as all the pieces locked into place: the eyes she had seen in form for two years glinting behind dark eye shadow, the interviews in various magazines, the rumors of challengers to Parliament seats having a powerful supporter who was savvy with his political investments and favors.

Before she could stop herself, Naomi blurted, "Who the fuck invited you to lunch, Mr. Stonem?"


	12. Chapter 12

Emily was trying her hardest not to think the thought that was most on her mind as she navigated a car from the station's pool (Emily couldn't tell if it was the same one as the previous day, but it was, unsurprisingly, identical in every way) through morning traffic to Ronald Yancey's house. The sky above was mottled by ice grey clouds and Emily was afraid that any thought about sunshine would ruin the day and cause the sunlight and blue skies breaking through to retreat. Besides, in spite of the harsh reaction her write-up had received from the Chief, the timely words of Smith and the captivating performance her girlfriend had delivered had cheered her greatly. Emily smiled thinking about the brief conversation she and Naomi had had the previous evening about it. Emily had joked with Naomi that if she didn't stop writing such moving speeches she'd force them to permanently move out of Bristol to London and have an army of security and servants manage their lives. Naomi had responded dryly that if she ever reached such a high position, she'd just move the government instead so they wouldn't have to move themselves.

Naomi had also been quick to note that Emily hadn't been so approving of her profession just a few days prior, but Emily had dodged that issue as deftly as her girlfriend sidestepped making promises to members of the Opposition party. Emily had made the comment in jest, but underneath a part of her did fear losing Naomi to the demands of a Cabinet position before she was ready to accept the accompanying responsibilities and exposure. The bevy of interviews and interruptions that had followed her election first to the City Council and then to the House of Commons in a special election had startled Emily in their intensity and lack of boundaries. And then the last five or six months had been completely devoted to the campaign for this election.

As she guided the unmarked car through a roundabout, Emily weighed those reservations with the unremitted joy that Naomi had displayed after each successful election or major milestone. She considered the cold loneliness that seemed to layer itself between the sheets when Naomi was away in session in London and contrasted it to their inseparability and the incomparable warmth of Naomi spooned behind her when she was home. Emily tapped her fingers on the wheel. She had once asked the wife of one of Bristol's other Members how she had dealt with the separation and unpredictable nature of the political realm. The answer had touched Emily, but at times seemed so difficult to achieve: to maximize the moments spent together so that the memories and imprints of them overflowed into the times apart.

Being the romantic that Emily knew she was in such regards, it had sounded so simple and perfect. But the times that Naomi had returned to Bristol only to be wrapped up in interviews, dinners, and visits to inaugural events, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, and community gatherings had tempered Emily's expectations of achieving such an ideal solution. The words Naomi had whispered to her Friday night, promising to bind their relationship together forever in marriage, crowded out Emily's thoughts about missed opportunities to spend time together and regretted disagreements. And then of its own accord, those cheery thoughts settled into her gut and twisted her stomach in a knot. Emily knew that Naomi had meant what she had said, but no matter how she denied it, a doubt that it would come to fruition remained in the darkest recesses of her mind.

As often happened when contemplating Naomi, Emily found herself detached from the world around her. In the cupholder, her cell phone was beeping at an ever increasing shrillness. Pressing a button on the dash (hand-held use of cellular devices had long since been banned for safety reasons), Emily looked up at the mirror and the intersection through which she had auto-piloted. After a moment the car's wireless connection synced and interrupted the ringing.

"Detective Fitch speaking."

"Good morning, Ms. Fitch. Devlin Franks with the _Post_. I was wondering what insight you could provide into the current investigation on what happened last week."

Emily felt her mouth fall open in the car. "Excuse me?"

"The people have a right to know what is being done to bring those who committed last week's crime to justice."

"The people have a right to know that I don't comment on ongoing investigations," replied Emily quickly.

"So you're leading the investigation then?"

"What? I never said that."

"Then if you're not involved you can speak on it."

"No comment, Mr. Franks. You should try fishing for a story elsewhere."

"I'm not fishing, Detective. I have a source that says there's internal disagreements on how to proceed with the investigation."

Emily shook her head sadly. "Well, without saying anything about the investigation, I can tell you your source is wrong. Do you journalist types make it a habit of trying to butcher every story as badly as possible?"

"Just trying to get to the truth, Ms. Fitch, just like you. I can see why it would be a tough pill to swallow if your bosses wanted to suppress the truth about the Bristol Police's reaction to the hostage situation. Leaving a young detective like yourself to negotiate with those men must have really—"

"I don't know who you think you are, asshole, but I have no comment about the ongoing investigation and will continue to have none. Don't bother calling me again, yeah?" Emily jabbed the 'end call' button and slapped the steering wheel repeatedly. The knot in her stomach tightening, Emily exasperatedly asked the empty car, "Where do you fucks find this shit out?"

Still steaming about the impromptu interview, Emily turned the car onto Yancey's street and parked it. Taking deep breaths, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the reporter's goading voice. There had been a handful of reporters that had contacted her the previous week at the station or her work email, but Emily was positive none had called on her personal cell. _How __the __hell __had __he __gotten __that__!_ She looked to her left across the street at Yancey's house and sighed. _No __time __to __dwell__, __Ems__. __You__'__ve __got __a __job __to __do__._ Emily swiftly pulled the keys out of the ignition, swung her bag out of the back seat, and stepped out of the car.

Yancey opened the door as she crossed the street and waved her up the walk. Closing the door behind her, he slipped past her and towards the back of the house, calling out if she wanted a cup of tea. Assenting, Emily wandered into the living room and inspected the family photos that had escaped her quick once-over the previous day. There were photos of the entire family at the shore squatting around a roughly made sandcastle while the children beamed at the feeling of accomplishment that accompanies such architectural marvels; a snapshot of the eldest dribbling the ball down the field was paired with his individual photo in uniform with a bland blue backdrop; Yancey and his wife embraced on a bridge in some foreign city in another photograph, the large river and ancient skyline extending behind them; and one of the daughter dressed in a ballet costume, flanked by her brothers dressed as football players on a past Halloween.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," said Ronald as he came back with two cups of tea. Emily sat down across from Yancey with the window overlooking the front yard behind her as he sat on a sofa to her right facing the fireplace, his left arm extended out offering her the saucer and cup.

"Thank you," said Emily quietly, taking a small sip and nodding approvingly as she placed the dishes on the coffee table.

"How long have you had that thing?" asked Ronald casually, nodding towards the familiar notepad that Emily had withdrawn and sat on the arm of her chair.

"Ages. I write small and use the backs. I haven't gotten notes from different cases confused in a long time. Let's pick up where we left off, yeah? You said they were looking through financial records going back decades in some cases. After they questioned you, you and Katie were left in the break room together; I forced them to take me on a tour of the floor when we brought you all food in the evening."

"Oh my God, that was you? I wasn't exactly thinking straight at that point, but I do remember someone coming through and pissing off the guys in the break room. Yeah it was right after they had done a rush job of moving all those records out. They were hauling the boxes out and hurrying to do so." Yancey paused and cocked his head, catching Emily's eye as she had not yet begun to write anything down and was watching him intently.

"What is it?"

"Well, earlier in the day your sister had fallen and knocked a couple boxes of papers over, so the room was already a mess. Then they were rushing to move everything out and I noticed that some of the papers were still strewn about the break room. I may have gotten my hands on a couple of them."

"You're joking." Ronald shook his head slowly, a sheepish look on his face. Emily quickly scribbled on her notepad and continued, "You have them here then?"

"No."

"No?" echoed Emily, her excitement falling slightly, her pen hovering over the paper in a holding pattern.

"Obviously there wasn't enough time to fold them up in neat little squares and put them in my pockets. So as they were carrying the boxes out and papers were falling on the floor, mixing with the ones your sister spilled, I put a hand on them and quickly slid them underneath the vending machines."

Emily still hadn't moved. "But Katie made it sound like they didn't find what they were looking for in those papers."

"When they 'questioned' me," Ronald drew the word out to emphasize how loose of a description it was, "they had not found anything of note. I honestly don't know about the rest of the afternoon. They didn't say much, although I do remember them making a couple separate piles that did not go back into the boxes from which they came. Honestly, I couldn't tell you what the pages I got my hands on were. They could have come from either set of papers."

"Because they moved you and Katie after my visit," supplied Emily, readying herself to continue writing.

"Correct. They moved us to an office on the back wall, and then the building shook when they detonated that bomb or whatever it was on the floor below. Out in the cubicle farm smoke detectors started going off. Almost immediately the terrorist who I can only assume was their leader directed the others to move me back to the break room. The first thing I noticed as we crossed back over to my first prison was that the corner we were walking towards seemed to be lower than the rest of the floor. There didn't seem to be any structural damage to the building, but the temperature had jumped and I was quickly sweating.

"They put me back into the break room and told me that if I didn't cooperate with them I would be killed. Another guy came in carrying a large box, dropped it on the floor, and then brought in three more. The top one was cut open and one of the terrorists handed me a folded-up jumpsuit of the exact same style they were wearing. The door was open and I could see them continuing to knock walls over and move around the cubicles, which caused a pretty loud commotion. The most disconcerting sound though, was an eruption of gunfire that pierced throughout the floor. Several people started screaming in offices around the floor. The terrorists in the break room with me slammed the door shut and told me that I would be responsible for distributing the jumpsuits out to all the people in the offices, chaperoning them to the restrooms, and making them change. They were to leave their old clothes in the bathrooms."

"How long did that take?" Emily didn't look up at Ronald as she flipped a page and continued writing.

"Well, I asked if they wanted me to do it immediately or wait until my coworkers were done eating. They talked and replied that they could have a half hour to eat and then I was to go around and start the distribution of the jumpsuits."

Emily tapped her pen lightly on the notepad and queried, "It was about eight-thirty or so when there was a jumper. Can you touch on that?"

"That was only eight-thirty? It seemed much later than that. Um, yes it was while I was having people change. I was standing in the open door of the restroom making sure that no one tried to do something foolish when I heard someone scream from a couple offices away. A couple of the terrorists started racing over from where they were working in the cubicles, but I got there first. I opened the door and found myself looking directly into a bright floodlight and feeling the sharp night breeze in my face. The window was shattered and several of the office workers huddled in there were screaming. The terrorists yelled at me over the wind that I needed to get the people out of that office and distribute them to other ones. I noticed that none of them got in the doorway or anywhere they could be seen. So I moved everyone and went back to getting everyone changed."

"That was it? They didn't want to know what had happened?"

"Sure they did. About ten minutes later while I was again standing in the door of the bathroom, one of the terrorists walked over and dragged me to the stairwell in the corner opposite where the bomb went off. Once he started talking, I recognized the voice of the leader from earlier in the evening. He wanted to know whether anyone else was going to try and be a hero and escape or whether I had put him up to it. He kicked me down the stairs and stood over me screaming and cursing for a while, I think to just let out frustration. I blocked it out. Finally he relented and led me back up to the third floor and told me that he wasn't kidding about killing people if their demands weren't met, and that if another one of my coworkers did something like that stunt, he'd kill me first. I believed him."

"Did you know what the demands were, Ronald?"

"No and I didn't care. I just wanted to find out who it was that jumped. I visited him in the hospital on Wednesday and he apologized for being impulsive and I told him that we had all been thinking it, he just had bigger balls than we did."

Emily smiled wryly and took a sip at her tea. "So you had no idea that the deadline for the demands passed at ten that night?"

"None. After I got everyone changed, they made me help blindfold and put those zip handcuffs on everyone, culminating with myself. I sat there in an office with several others. Some were praying. Some were snoring. I was tired as well, but was afraid of what might happen if I wasn't awake to talk with the terrorists and check on the others." Ronald noticed that Emily was about to interrupt and, guessing her question, said quickly, "I didn't see your sister again until the morning when I passed her leaving the medical trailer.

"They moved us around to different offices enough times throughout the night that I lost count. My arms fell asleep behind me from the way they were cuffed, and I was woken by the sun coming in through the windows of the office I was in. All night I had heard a buzzing that helped put me into a fitful sleep despite my best efforts to stay awake. A couple terrorists came in a short time later and uncuffed me. I was handed a mouthguard to put in and they made me don a cloth mask like the ones they were wearing as well as the thick dark sunglasses that had stayed on their faces all night. I was instructed not to talk under any circumstance. And once again I went around to the various offices and made them complete their costume, a terrorist by my side the whole way. Finally, they dropped me in a random office and cuffed me. Do you need me to slow down?"

"No, no, thank you. I'm getting it all, trust me. It's starting to make a bit more sense now. Keep going."

"Well," Ronald paused for a drink of tea and to collect his thoughts. "A time later all of the smoke detectors started going off again. A terrorist slammed shut the door after yelling at us to stay in the office and not move. It sounded a bit like the leader, but I'm not sure. It was silent for some time, then all hell broke loose. There was gunfire, the glass windows on the wall separating the office from the cubicle farm disappearing in a hail of bullets that sailed over our heads and peppered the walls and outer windows. The computer sparked and smoked. Papers were floating in the air like confetti. After maybe ten minutes or so the door was kicked open and a Special Response person in tactical gear burst into the office with his gun drawn. He shouted for us to go down to the lobby by way of the stairs in the corner.

"We didn't waste any time; there was a rush as people stumbled and fell trying to get up and out of the office as quickly as we could. All over the floor people were streaming towards the stairs. The cubicle farm was a mess, but I wasn't really looking around for details. It was really disconcerting to see so many people wearing the same thing all stumbling together and we all just wanted to get out. I couldn't have picked Katie or anyone else out even if I knew they had been a foot away from me.

"We poured out into the lobby and more officers herded us through the front doors and onto two buses. I could barely control my breathing as we all sat on the bus. We were all exhausted, just sitting there still cuffed and with the masks on and sunglasses too. Finally someone from the Special Response team came on the bus and told us that we were safe and that we were being taken to a different site to be checked out by medical personnel."

Emily finished writing and frowned. She flipped back through the abundance of notes she had written. Something was wrong, and she didn't need to wait a couple days to look back through to realize it. Haltingly, Emily tried to ask a question that came out as an accusatory statement. "You...You didn't mention Brian Long."

Ronald returned her frown and leaned forward. "Sorry?"

"Brian Long. The SSI employee that was shot and killed early in the morning when we didn't meet their demands to the letter."

Yancey slowly shook his head. "There's no SSI employee by that name."

* * *

If there was one more person crammed into the conference room, Naomi was positive that there would be about fifteen fire and safety regulations that she would be violating. As one of the youngest MPs, she had accordingly been entitled to one of the smallest office suites. The conference room—a generous word as the room was roughly equal in size to her own small office down the hall, with a long table and hi-def projector in place of a desk, three chairs, and small television—was filled to the brim with members of her staff, two of her (now former) colleagues in Parliament, and representatives of the government agencies with the largest stake in any legislation for which Naomi might draft and propose.

Naomi sat in the center of the table as was her custom during meetings meant to foster cooperation, well-being, and consensus-building; she felt sitting at the head of the table implied that she was elevated above the discussion and expectant of being pitched things opposed to helping create something everyone could stand behind. When Naomi had been a Council member in Bristol, she had held a series of small, intimate meetings in cafés, libraries, and people's flats, throughout which she made sure to sit among the people she was representing and governing instead of standing on a podium and directing people to ask questions at a microphone below her. The concept had translated well to her short time in London, especially given her junior status and desire to appear engaged and proactive but not arrogant.

On her right was Erik, her chief of staff, a laptop opened on the table in front of him and wirelessly connected to the projector suspended above the table. On Naomi's left sat a senior member of her party who represented an area just outside London whose constituents relied heavily on the defense industry for their livelihood—his staff had called Naomi's immediately following her press conference on Friday expressing a desire to work together as much as possible this final week of the session and upon their return if both were reelected. At the end of the table on Naomi's left, her back to the wall illuminated by the projector, was a second member of her staff with over twenty years of experience working with MPs. Naomi had come to rely on Liza for structuring and helping write the handful of proposals she had introduced during the last two sessions as well as picking her brain about the finer points of legislation up for votes and how the wording of each proposal would actually be implemented.

Diagonally to Naomi's left across the table, looking sullen and perpetually frowning, was the Office of Security and Counter-Terrorism's Bristol regional director, a thick man who had introduced himself only as Harlan when he sat down. Behind him, standing against the far wall, were two members of his staff that had escorted him, carrying his briefcase and tablets to pull up any references their boss may require during the meeting. The seat immediately across from Naomi was occupied by a research assistant, an intern that worked for Naomi as well as three other MPs doing the legwork and background of issues and proposals that members and their paid staff, like Liza, then drafted. Naomi had convinced the MP from Plymouth whose offices abutted hers that she needed the young assistant for the week and a half of the session, setting him to work looking into the capabilities and limitations on various police forces and government agencies throughout the Kingdom. To the young man's left, standing and carefully placing his suit jacket on the back of his chair, was a junior member of a coalition party who had been swept into office two months earlier than Naomi in a special election. He was facing a difficult reelection bid in his region, and the prospect of being a sponsor of what he hoped would be a landmark piece of legislation excited him. Finally, on the short side of the table to Naomi's right, the Bristol area director for the National Crime Agency, a reed-like man named Underwood, sat upright and rigid in his chair, conditioned by a previous career in the military. He, too, had brought an aide to assist in the discussion, who was standing against the wall.

Glancing around the room, satisfied that everyone who was going to be there was comfortable, Naomi nodded to one of the aides to close the door. The member on her right took his seat and as the door clicked shut, Naomi pulled her chair closer to the table, leaned forward, and looked in turn at each person in the room, greeting them by name. That completed, she cleared her throat and addressed the group as a whole.

"I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your Tuesday morning to be here. I'm especially grateful that my colleagues agreed to take the half day out of their schedules and remain here in London instead of racing off to their campaigns. I think we are all in agreement that what occurred last week in Bristol was a jarring reminder of how quickly terror and violence can strike here at home. Acts like this are so far beyond comprehension that it would seem easy to dismiss them as impossible to prevent.

"I refuse to believe that. I believe that we should all be able to live peaceably and secure in our homes, on our commutes, and in our workplaces. And because I believe that, I can firmly say that I believe there are steps we can take to change our culture and our system to better prevent attacks and, if necessary, respond to such situations in the future. We owe such action to ourselves as policymakers and policy-implementers, but we also owe it to our families, our constituents, and our countrymen and -women.

"In line with that, here are a handful of ideas and proposals I have floated with my staff." Naomi motioned to Erik who flashed a slide up on the wall with four bullet-points covering general topics. "As you can see, the general areas that my proposal will cover are 'Expanded Grants & Resources,' 'Improved Training,' 'Promoting Cooperation,' and 'Home Intelligence.' You should all have printed copies of the slides being displayed on the wall. I do not pretend to have all the answers to these issues; these are merely a foundation for discussion."

With that, Naomi sat back and allowed the discussion to grow organically. Naomi was surprised that Underwood provided the majority of the resistance to her proposals. From the outset, he made it well known to the group that his stance was that Britain did not need more security measures and funding, but rather increased accountability of its law enforcement personnel and government ministers. He also insisted that no new law could prevent a repeat of what had happened or any other attack; Naomi twice bit her tongue to withhold emotional outbursts along the lines of accusing Underwood of not caring about public safety.

The senior MP seated next to Naomi congenially engaged Underwood and Harlan repeatedly, trying to draw out of them just what they thought had gone wrong and needed mending—Underwood in particular was happy to hammer home his pessimistic view of Naomi's proposed bill, while Harlan would frown and keep his answers as short as possible. Frequently, Liza would intercede with recommendations for how certain points would be phrased best in a draft of the proposals and the Member would stroke his beard and suggest that they combine certain aspects or split others up. After a time, Naomi noticed that he was attempting to steer the discussion into a way to fit further support for defense contracts that would benefit his constituencies as well as measures to increase security at defense contractor-owned properties into the proposal. This suggestion resulted in Harlan's largest contribution of the meeting: an one hundred word rant (by his standards) about how thoroughly ineffective private security firms were at making the workplace safer.

Before the conversation devolved further, Naomi directed them towards her perceived need for greater interaction between different agencies as well as between the national government level and the local level. Her peer junior MP across the table jumped in eagerly, insisting that they look into restructuring the NCA (Underwood flatly denied it would help) and that the idea of increasing grants and funding of local police units to respond to terrorism and organized crime went hand-in-hand with such a restructuring. The young research assistant across from Naomi quietly supplied some of his findings, which led to Erik and Liza encouraging him to speak more loudly and contribute.

As the conversation got back on track, Naomi fell silent and tried to gauge how many different proposals could be formed into one bill to introduce after her reelection. It would be a challenge to convince those members of the coalition adverse to Home Security spending that this was necessary, but if some of the other facets were emphasized, she was confident that it would pass. Naomi begrudgingly agreed with Underwood that greater accountability would probably be a better avenue to pursue than just throwing more money at a problem, but Naomi also knew that going down that path assumed people would enforce unpopular directives and work entirely honestly and thoroughly. And as much as Naomi would have liked to become infatuated with the idea of a government agency functioning in such a way, she was a realist. Ultimately, she told herself, any sort of assistance she could provide to Emily would be worth it.

Naomi found herself disconnecting from the conversation (Liza and the young Member from across the table were excitedly working out how to help local police forces and word it to maximize its effect in the proposal while Harlan grunted acception or skepticism depending on the questions directed his way) and thinking instead about her girlfriend. It had certainly not been easy during this session; Naomi hated sleeping alone in the tiny flat she split with two other junior MPs that their combined accommodation allowances barely covered. They were infrequently all there and awake at the same time, but the pullout sofa that Naomi had bunked on for the last several months had been a constant reminder of the warm bed and companion awaiting her in Bristol. At least they had agreed to keep a well-stocked kitchen so that they did not have to waste money constantly eating out; unfortunately, that goal often failed due to obligations for the party or special interests or media functions. But they had already left to head home...

While continuing to look around at the other members of the meeting and act as if she was completely engaged, Naomi quickly formulated a plan and course of action for the remainder of her day. Why should she have to waste another night alone in London now that the session was over? It had been months since Emily had been able to get away from work to visit her. And Naomi knew that if there was anything Emily needed now, it was an escape from the dark events that still hung low over Bristol. She smiled softly and looked down at her file of notes as Erik pushed the conversation on towards its conclusion. Naomi knew that Emily would say yes: they both needed a reprieve from the maelstrom their lives had been for the last week.

* * *

Emily was still trying to process just how she and the rest of the police**—**as well as the media**—**had not realized that Brian Long wasn't real when she returned to her office. A week had passed and no one had questioned where the family of the deceased was, where the SSI personnel records were, or why after the searching they had conducted no body had been found. Emily closed the door to her office and ignored Lewis as she dropped into her chair, racing through implications and incredulities. It didn't make any sense! _None __of __this __makes __any __sense__, __Ems_, she told herself angrily. How was she expected to successfully continue an investigation when she had missed the fact that one of the two casualties (Emily considered the jumper a casualty as he had been severely injured, though not killed) did not exist.

Furrowing her brow, Emily pulled up all the personnel files the force had compiled at the conclusion of the standoff. She knew that one with the name 'Brian Long' would not come up, but maybe there was some key to this in the profiles of everyone else. She didn't know where else to look at the moment. On the drive back to the station, Emily had called one of the other detectives and demanded to know why a complete list of employees had not been acquired yet. He had fumbled around with excuses about trying to look for people with ties to SSI as well as organized crime or terrorism, then fallen silent as Emily cursed him out and demanded them as soon as feasible.

Emily took her notepad out and placed it on her desk, staring at it as if the riddle of Brian Long would unravel itself the longer she stared at its dog-eared corners and faded cover. Lewis was typing intermittently at his desk; the office felt suffocating in its small size and lack of answers. Picking up the phone, Emily rang the single office the other detectives shared upstairs. A different one answered and informed her that the colleague she was looking for had departed for the day. Cursing aloud and startling Lewis, Emily slammed the phone back down and stood up in an effort to pace in the confined space. _Think__! __If __you __can__'__t __force __this __right __now__, __what __else __can __you __look __into__?_

"Detective Fitch, is something wrong?" inquired Lewis slowly, swiveling in his chair to turn and watch her pace the five steps in either direction that were possible behind her desk. Looking over at her officemate nonplussed, Emily shook her head in small movements.

"It's just so fucked, this whole thing. We have no idea what they really wanted or were looking for, there doesn't seem to be any urgency about the whole thing upstairs, and now I'm finding out that the guy we all thought was shot to death never existed."

"Sorry? That doesn't make sense."

"You're telling me," groused Emily. She stopped pacing and leaned against the wall furthest from Lewis's desk. "According to the executive who was responsible for the people in that SSI office, Brian Long wasn't an employee."

"That seems impossible."

"Yeah. Impossible," repeated Emily. Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at the bespectacled financial investigator sharing her temporary office. His effort to be sympathetic and interact with her did little to make Emily reconsider her assessment of Lewis Adams' competency, but between the refusal of Katie to be forthcoming with information, the in-fighting between the Chief, Morris, and herself, and now Ronald's revelation that Brian Long was a fabrication, Emily knew she was running short on options

"Look, Lewis, I'm not sure exactly what it is you're doing all the time since none of it appears to be related to my investigation, but do you think that you could look at SSI's books this week and let me know if there are any discrepancies?"

"Discrepancies? Like what?"

"I'm not sure, but the executive I mentioned said they were definitely looking through old financial records while we were running around catering to them and trying to setup the raid."

"Sure, I can try," he said eagerly. "Chief told me that I was supposed to work on how these terrorists funded their little project and where they could have purchased the weapons and explosives they used, but I suppose it makes more sense to figure out what they were after first. Work backwards."

"Uh, yeah. I was thinking a motive might help lead us back to the 'who' as well."

Lewis grinned and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Sweeping his short arms across his desk, he cleared off several piles of papers while mumbling that he would clean them up later. "Any place you think I should start?"

Emily's cell began to ring in her pocket and she fished it out quickly. Noticing the picture of Naomi that was displayed as the background of the caller screen, she answered the call but held her hand over the mouthpiece. "Start with anything you can find about mergers with other defense firms. Apparently they were interested in that stuff.

"Hello?" Emily asked into the phone. Lewis gave her an excited thumbs up and she responded with a much less enthusiastic smile and thumbs-up.

"Ems, hey. You should come to London tonight."

"What?"

"You need to get out of Bristol, Emily," said Naomi sternly. Emily sighed and shook her wrist to get a look at her watch.

"Uh, yeah I can catch a train in a half hour. What's the occasion?"

"Well, if the adjourning of the session isn't enough of one, what about my shared flat being empty except for me?"

Emily bit her lip and smiled. After a pause, she complained, "But I was so looking forward to meeting the Members who have kept you out of trouble these months."

"Liar."


	13. Chapter 13

"On second thought, what I really meant is that I had forgotten how much of a dump your place is and I never wanted to see it again," said Emily as she dropped her overnight bag on the floor of the living room, which also doubled as the dining area: a small round table abutted the pull out sofa that Naomi called her bed. Four chairs that matched the wood table were scattered around the room on sight lines to the moderate-sized television situated on a low-slung entertainment center housing a DVR and Blu-Ray player. Emily collapsed onto the sofa and placed her personal cell on the dining table behind her head. The old sofa creaked softly even under her slight frame.

"Right. Maybe you should write a letter to your MP and suggest an increase in their allowances," replied Naomi from the kitchen. It was located on the far side of the door and blocked off by a wall with a large opening in it so one could prepare a meal and still see the door and living room. Naomi had several cabinets open, water running in the sink, and two pots heating on the small range. "Drink?"

"You make it sound like a question."

"Alright, alright. We only have some vodka, tonic water...uh, just a second," Naomi trailed off as she stood on tiptoes to look into the liquor cabinet in the corner. "Maybe a shot or two of rum, and some marginal red wine."

"No tequila?"

"This isn't exactly party central when we're here, babes. We have jobs."

Emily twisted on the sofa and faked an angry glare. Naomi arched an eyebrow and waited for an answer. "Don't make excuses, Naomi. It's not like you. I guess save the wine for later. I'll take a vodka tonic, although it's _not_ my first choice."

"Two vodkas with a splash of tonic coming up." Naomi set to making their drinks while keeping an eye on the pots that were slowly coming to a boil. "Think you could give me a hand in here?"

"Oh fine." Emily swung around and padded over to the kitchen, continuing to glare at Naomi. "And in response to your suggestion, I hear the Member that represents me is shit. She doesn't listen to anyone, refuses to vote on anything important, and frequently shows up late to committee meetings. So I don't think a letter's going to do the trick."

"Well, at least these things you hear got one thing right. I do show up late a lot. Keeps them on their toes." Naomi stirred their drinks quickly and took one in her hand. She crossed the small tile-covered floor of the kitchen and kissed Emily lightly before offering her the drink.

"You're such a rebel." Emily returned the favor and leaned up to kiss Naomi. As the blonde woman turned and moved back to pick up her drink, Emily sniffed hers doubtfully and tasted it. She immediately sprayed a vodka-laced cloud into the air. "Ugh, yuck. Ugh, what the fuck is this? You can't even buy decent vodka?"

"I got overruled on the tequila. This was my way of getting back at them." Naomi shrugged, took a sip and grimaced. "Most days, after hours of meetings and posturing, anything that burns going down and gives you a buzz after a few drinks is decent enough."

"Still a shame about the tequila. Well, at least there's the marginal wine to look forward to."

Naomi raised her glass in salute. "Now, if you're done complaining, could you put the pasta in and stir the sauce?"

The two fell into a comfortable, efficient rhythm preparing the dinner. Occasionally, Emily would inquire to the location of an utensil, but once Naomi began playing some of the music from their days in college, words were no longer necessary. Naomi worked on tossing together a salad and preparing some basic garlic cheese bread; Emily added vegetables to the sauce simmering on the range and slipped out to set the small table for the two of them. Maturely, they mimed singing along to the nostalgic songs wheedling out of the iPad resting on the sill above the sink, using spoons as microphones and instruments. Their giggling and slightly off-note singing filled the small flat. Emily tried to sneak in attacks at her girlfriend, tossing pieces of vegetables across the kitchen. When she was finally successful at landing a piece of mushroom in Naomi's blonde hair, Emily found herself laughing uncontrollably and backpedalling out of the kitchen as Naomi gasped indignantly and stalked after her. Flinging the offending piece of mushroom back at her girlfriend, Naomi trapped her against the wall and kissed Emily fiercely—only the unruly bubbling of the red sauce left unattended on the range caused Naomi to untangle her hands from Emily's hair and step back.

"If you get red sauce all over my kitchen, I'm making you sleep on the floor."

Emily smirked, kissing Naomi on the cheek as she slipped around her into the kitchen. "I'll just go sleep on one of the empty beds. Much more comfortable."

Naomi shook her head and followed Emily back into the kitchen, reaching past her girlfriend to set the proper temperature on the oven. While it heated up, Naomi retrieved the bottle opener from the liquor cabinet and poured each of them a glass of the mediocre red wine sitting on the counter. The song shuffled to a more upbeat tune that elicited a cheer from Emily. As Naomi was returning from placing the two glasses on the dining table in the living room, Emily finished off the rest of her vodka tonic and intercepted her girlfriend in the small entrance area just inside the door to the flat. Spinning Naomi around and taking the lead, Emily led them in a flurry of dance steps and sashayings. Just as they were beginning to falter from laughter, the oven beeped shrilly calling them back into the kitchen.

Several minutes later, Naomi placed the small plate ringed by slices of garlic cheese bread on the edge of the table and sat down. Emily followed her carrying a plate piled high with spaghetti and sauce in each hand. Setting one in front of Naomi, she arranged the second at her place and took her seat. Naomi added a piece of bread to the salad plate just askance of her setting and offered one to Emily who took one and immediately took a bite before setting hers down. Chewing on it thoughtfully as if she was a critic reviewing Naomi's cooking skill, Emily nodded approvingly and raised her wine glass.

"To a successful first session as my MP, and to returning for a second very soon," Emily toasted proudly, then paused and added, "And to getting a better flat than this for the next session."

"Oh yeah, really deep toast there, Ems." Naomi clinked her wine glass with Emily's and took a sip. Emily paused, slightly furrowing her brow, then took a long, slow drink of wine.

She meant every word of her toast, but the knot from that morning had returned to her stomach and the prospect of another cycle like the last session—and potentially even more visible if Naomi was able to parlay the success and media-attention of the end of this session into a more powerful position upon her return to Parliament. Moreover, the flurry of opinion pieces and articles covering the 'Good People' speech from yesterday's adjournment that Emily had scanned on the train ride from Bristol made her realize that if (_no__, __when_, Emily told herself firmly) they did marry, the media circus around them would explode.

"Everything alright? Hello?!"

"Hmm?"

"You going to eat or what?" Naomi eyed Emily curiously as the detective placed her wine glass back on the table and futilely stabbed at a crouton on her salad.

"Yeah, sorry. Wandered off for a bit."

"Obviously. So, have you talked to Katie since I left?"

Emily shook her head as she swallowed and began twirling her fork through the spaghetti. "No. Last time I tried was Sunday evening, but her phone was off. I think she was pretty bothered about going back to her office."

"Yeah, that would be tough to get over. Have you followed up on anything she gave you?"

"Naomi, you know I can't tell you the dark secrets of my investigations," replied Emily coyly, turning her head to appraise Naomi with one eye and a mischievous grin.

"True. But I also know you usually end up telling me anyway. I can be very persuasive."

"Yes. You can." Emily shrugged and faced Naomi fully. She reached for the wine. "I'm trying, but the Chief doesn't seem to think I can handle it. He's keen to let some guys from NCA and OSCT do the snooping while I go back to petty crimes it seems. The police never seemed to investigate drug rings and vandalism much when we were younger, why do we have to start now?"

"Broken windows. You fix up the small things and a city starts to look nice. Then big crimes don't follow. Or something like that. I assume you mean Harlan and Underwood, the Bristol reps that I met with today."

"Yeah. I only met Harlan briefly when he stole my office from me. Are they going to be a help or a bother?"

Naomi shrugged and waved a piece of bread in the air. "Oh you know, they're more interested in saving face and having deniability if they get investigated by my types. No, Underwood means well, but is a bit of a pessimist. You have your work cut out with Harlan. Doesn't seem to be the type to help anyone and keeps to himself."

"Great. First Tony Stonem's snooping around, then I get two shit national agency pricks poking their noses in my—what the fuck's wrong, Naomi?" Emily had looked up from cutting through her spaghetti and spinning her fork around to find Naomi agape with a piece of bread unappetizingly visible on her tongue. "Do you mind shutting your mouth?"

Naomi complied and swallowed before apologizing. "Sorry, Em. Did you say something about Tony Stonem?"

"Why are people so surprised that I've met him?!"

"I had lunch with him yesterday, as it were. Well, more like I was at lunch with..." Naomi trailed off and took a sip of wine to wash the garlic bread down.

"Yes? Lunch with who?"

"Mmm, a potential campaign donor. Tony more or less crashed it."

"What'd he want?"

"Dunno. He was very vague. A lot of posturing and hinting that I do everything in my power to help along any investigation into SSI. He made it sound like they had some deep, dark secret that needed outing, but that he didn't quite know what it was. When did you run into him?"

"He came by the station on Friday to much the same of what he did yesterday. Cryptic words. Conspiratorial winks and the like. Made it sound like the full story hadn't been outed about the standoff or SSI and that he was interested in following my investigation until it outs whatever information he's looking for. Katie made it sound like he's, like, really rich? What's his deal?"

Naomi gave a noncommittal shrug. She told herself she was doing a lot of that recently. "I don't know everything about him, not by a long shot. I met him ages ago at a party fundraiser in Bristol. He had purchased a ticket for the dinner and introduced himself to me. I think you were away in Spain. He didn't say who he worked for or what he did, but he complimented me on running an outstanding campaign for city council and wished me the best. He also offered his services if I ever required them, not that he said what those were, but I believe that he's made some anonymous, legal donations to my campaigns since then."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Of what importance would that have been? He never actually contacted me again until yesterday. And I can't prove the donations, obviously, since they were anonymous. And it never really seemed like it mattered to either of us; it's not like we were all friends. I know he's gotten involved in defense contracts and some consulting work; like your sister said, he is well-off. Mmm," Naomi took a quick drink and continued, fighting against Emily's displeased gaze and cocked head. "Don't give me that look, Emily. Oh, don't raise your eyebrow too. I haven't done anything wrong, and neither has he as far as I know."

"No? Well, I still think it odd that first he makes it a point to visit me personally and then he just happens to have lunch with you on the other side of the weekend. Coincidences don't get me very far in my job. How long has he been in that business? Do you think that he's worked with SSI at all?"

Naomi mulled over Emily's questions as she took a couple bites. Tony and Ross certainly had not been friendly with each other; however, she did not get the feeling that they were close friends, or ever had been. The tension between the two of them seemed to stem from the rude interruption of a lunch Ross had made time to have with Naomi, as well as some vague professional rivalry or discontent. It was clear in the way Ross carried himself and responded to any comments Stonem directed his way. But that didn't mean that he had worked with them at all, and the small amount of digging into his rise from bright but poorly motivated yet intelligent student at Cardiff to someone capable of exerting considerable political influence on both parties had not turned up any specific employment.

Mostly, however, Naomi struggled with whether or not she needed to burden Emily with the knowledge that the CIO of Strategic Security Initiatives had begun to imply he was willing to be a major backer of her campaign. Tony had conveniently interrupted before Ross could make whatever sales pitch he had planned, but Naomi knew the gist of it would have been in line with Tony's insinuation that she help deflect any prying eyes and investigations. Luckily, she had been able to brush off that she might have a personal connection to any ongoing investigations, and Naomi considered that a victory and protection of Emily from external pressures. And if her brief recounting of the interactions with her boss were any indication, Emily had plenty of internal pressure to deal with anyways.

"I don't know of any connection between him and SSI," Naomi said finally. "I've tried to find out exactly how he got rich, which hasn't been an easy process, but I don't think he has any personal ties to them."

"Figures. It's on my list of things to look into, but that list seems to be growing constantly despite my best efforts to keep it manageable. For instance, I found out today that we may have all been duped worse than I thought."

"What'd you mean?"

Emily shifted uncomfortably in her seat and played with the remaining bits of spaghetti on her plate. "I've interviewed one of Katie's co-workers about his experiences, and he said something very strange today. You know how we thought there was someone killed named Brian Long?"

"Yes, I had my staff try to find his immediate family in Bristol, but it seemed he didn't have any."

"That's because this man I interviewed, Yancey, doesn't believe anyone named Brian Long worked for SSI!"

"That's ridiculous," said Naomi as she stood and picked up her plate. "May I?"

"Yeah, sure." Emily handed her plate to Naomi and moved over to the couch, curling up at the far end. She swirled her wine around distractedly as Naomi returned from the kitchen with the bottle. She topped the two of them off and sat down on the sofa with Emily.

"So what happened to the body? And what else did you find out?"

"That was something I thought of too, and I'm not quite sure. I've been trying to recall what I can about last Monday night and see if there's anything amiss, but I'm not sure."

"Do you want to talk through it? I know last time you talked about it, the whole explosion and seeing Katie really shook you up, Ems. I don't want to ruin this night."

"It's alright. It won't, and if it starts to, I'll stop, kay?"

"Kay. Go ahead then. The bomb went off..."

* * *

Right. So I'm crouching behind a car and it seems like the whole world has gone to shit. Pieces of paper and that awful ceiling particle stuff were floating in the air and falling down all over the no-man's land and occasionally blowing out over all of us behind the cordon. I looked back and saw all of the media trucks and cameramen riveted on the building, and I felt sick knowing that this had just happened on live television. I stood slowly, turning around in a circle not quite believing that this had just happened. It was probably only a minute, but it seemed like hours before I could think straight and it clicked that the tech on the phone had followed through and there could be people dead. Then it clicked that the explosion had gone off on the second floor; they had shown me everyone on the third floor. So I started think maybe Katie was ok after all, though there were still huge doubts in my mind. I was scared, Naomi, more scared than I had ever been.

I walked back to the command van where several members of Special Response had remained to make sure that the listening devices in the pizza boxes were working properly even after the explosion. I quickly armed back up. They were grim and didn't say much when I entered, but the head of Special Response—his name's Christopher Smith by the way, and he was very kind yesterday and is a fan of yours after your speech and all—anyway, he followed me into the van and demanded that they get the audio feeds up and running as quickly as they could.

Soon enough, they were getting some faint feeds, but the voices were garbled and fading in and out. While Smith and his guys tried to figure out the technical issues, I called the station and asked again about the demands for the money and the financial records. They told me that they wouldn't be able to fulfill either of them, especially the money. I informed them that the situation may have changed with the explosion, but they continued to say no.

As I was hanging up, the Special Response team either figured out their issue or something inside the building changed and audio came through clear and crisp in the van. I heard my sister ask someone if he was going to kill her. The response was a roar of laughter, like Katie had just told the funniest joke he had ever heard. Smith looked at me and I mouthed, 'my sister,' which took him by surprise, then I heard her cursing through the laughing. All of a sudden the laughter stopped and the tech asked her if she really wanted to know if he was going to kill her. Then there were several gunshots fired and the different feeds began to burst into noise and static, snow covering the displays in the truck. Smith immediately threw down the headset he was holding and came over, dragging me out of the truck. We stood there, me with my hands on my hips trying to catch my breath and him with arms crossed.

_Detective __Fitch__, __I__'__m __so __sorry __you __had __to __hear __that__._ He was apologizing because it sounded like Katie had just been shot, but I knew better, Naomi. In between the static and subsequent gunshots, Katie's screaming was crystal clear to me, and amidst my relief that she was alive, dread was pumping through my veins at the fact that he had called her by her name and it had been heard by everyone in the van.

Whomever was leading this group of terrorists/techs, whatever, he knew who Katie was, and it was obvious that he had just staged a little intimidation for me; that is, he knew exactly what my relationship to her was. That bothered me more than the shooting of the pizza boxes. I knew these guys weren't stupid and would see right through the pizza box thing, but it was worth a shot, no pun intended. To have him send a personal message and make us deaf to what was going on inside all at the same time was a bold move. But he held all the cards and he knew it. That was when I told Smith to start planning their raid to go in and get the hostages out. I wanted to get Katie out as soon as possible. He said they wouldn't be able to move for some time, that the best time would be in the morning when they were expecting transport anyway and the Special Response team could get closer without triggering another explosion. I agreed and said to start planning all the same.

I wandered back outside and went around checking on different officers to make sure that they were okay after the explosion—most were because of the no man's land, but a handful had small cuts and scrapes from glass shards scattered about; those hurt were being tended to quickly and efficiently by medical personnel. I made sure to avoid going back to where the media was huddled. Talking to any of them was the very last thing I wanted to do. Over the radios, an officer on the far side of the building reported hearing what faintly sounded like gunshots but he couldn't be sure. I rogered up and headed back to the command van where Smith agreed with me that it was likely the shots used to scare Katie & I.

We didn't hear anything from the techs immediately after the explosion or the gunshots. Based on what Yancey told me earlier, they were busy making preparations for the following morning. We still didn't have a good view into any place on the third floor and smoke was still curling out of the part that had exploded; steam blew out as well from the fire sprinklers in and around that area. Time passed incredibly slowly, Naomi, maybe because I kept checking my watch expecting some call from the techs or from the station about the demands. SSI had to have been made aware of them by that time, but I didn't hear from them until later.

Then came the thing no one expected. Not me, not Smith, not the techs. About eight thirty, frantic calls over the radio reported that someone had jumped out of an office. In the van we didn't hear it, but people in the parking lot near us did start yelling and trying to get our attention. I darted outside and looked up at the building, which didn't look any different on the front: the jumper had gone out of a window on the side to my left, opposite where the explosion had occurred. I tried to get a report from someone about whether the person was alive or dead or if anyone had a visual, but no one could say anything for certain.

Yelling into the radio to get a spotlight on the now-broken window, I walked briskly back to the command van and ordered two of Smith's Special Response guys to run over and see if they could find anything else out. I peeked back outside and sure enough a floodlight was being swung around to focus on that office. A flood of reports about hostages being in the room cascaded over one another on the radio and Smith had to yell across the net to maintain control of the net. He chastised me off the net for yelling and compounding the issue, which stung obviously, but I understood why he had to do it. Someone reported that the hostages were being moved from that office further inside the building, but that they couldn't get a good look at who was leading them or if it was one of the hostage takers or another prisoner.

The phone started going off in the van and I had a gut feeling it was going to be the tech on the other end. My presumption didn't go unfounded and I found myself in the first real two-way conversation of the whole ordeal. He opened simply with _He __jumped __on __his __own__._ I told him he had been true to his word so far and pushing someone out a window didn't seem to be the easiest way to accomplish his goals. I added quickly that the person may still be alive and in need of medical attention. _I __did __not __account __for __this __in __my __initial __rules __and __requests __of __you__, __Detective__. __I __will __give __you __until__ 9:15 __to __remove __the __body __from __inside __the __standoff __area__, __then __my __promise __about __police __being __within__ 100 __meters __will __be __in __effect __once __more__. __Between __now __and__ 9:15, __the __only __movement __within __that __radius __will __be __directly __to __and __from __the __body__. __The__ 10 __pm __news __deadline __remains __the __same __with __the __doubled __amount __of __money__._ He hung up without allowing me to get another word in.

Putting the phone down, I turned to Smith and updated him, then ran back outside to let medical know. We didn't have much time. I started walking 'round the circular cordon as an ambulance raced to the far side of the building and was guided in by some police officers who moved their cars and some cones they had set up on that side of no man's land. By the time I got over there, paramedics were kneeling on the ground around and behind some shrubbery that had been planted on that side of the building. A couple officers stood with them, looking skeptically up at the open window still illuminated by a floodlight. I started walking back across that miserable void towards the flashing lights of the ambulance, feeling alone once again, and hoping it wasn't Katie. Then my radio lit off saying it was a man and he was alive but in critical condition. I jogged the last 50 meters or so, falling back into a walk just as a medic walked over to talk to me. He repeated that it was a man and he had a broken leg and was unconscious. Apparently he missed the electrical box on his fall, but when his leg snapped under him, his head hit the corner on the way down and knocked him out. Ugh, I still get shivers thinking about it.

It took them at least fifteen minutes to stabilize him and get him onto a stretcher with all the shrubs surrounding the place he landed. A couple Special Response team members assisted in carrying him back to the ambulance; it took off with us walking behind it and we had all retreated back to the cordon at 100 meters at maybe ten after nine. The ambulance continued on to the hospital and I walked slowly over to the command van, thanking God the man was alive. But I was starting to panic a little, Naomi. I mean, there was less than an hour until the deadline and we hadn't heard any word from the station or SSI about meeting the demands. I had no doubt whatsoever that the tech I had been talking to on the phone would make good on his promise to kill hostages if we didn't transfer the money or submit the financial records to the news stations.

I got back to the command van to find Smith talking to the Chief about the jumper and the mood grim. I sat down on the back bumper of the van and laid my head in my hands, trying to get a moment or two to myself. There was a light breeze blowing and for the most part it was quiet, like everyone was holding their breath for that hour until 10 pm. The constant commentary of the media didn't carry far enough for me to hear them at the command van, though Smith did have a television monitor dedicated to BBC in the van with the volume off.

At 9:30 a phone started ringing again, though not the usual one that had been called by the tech previously. The man on the other end identified himself as Osbourn Ross, an executive for SSI. He informed me with a touch of desperation in his voice that they were willing to negotiate with the techs to pay half of the original demanded amount at 10 pm and the rest with the financial records at midnight. Naomi, are you alright?

"Yes, I'm fine, Emily. It's just hard to listen to, okay? But please keep going."

'Kay. If you say so. Well, I asked this Ross guy to stay on the line and he shakily agreed. Within five minutes the phone I had come to dread all day started ringing. _Do __you __have __something __to __write __with__, __Detective__?_ He paused and I confirmed that I did. _Good, __because __here __is __the __account __you __will __have __SSI __transfer __the __money __into __at__ 10 __pm__._ Before he could give me the number, I interjected that SSI had a counter-offer. He was silent, so I continued on, relaying the offer for a quarter of the total payment now and the rest at midnight.

_They __want __more __time __then__? __I __told __you __that __there __would __be __no __extension__. __They __have __had __all __day__._ I retorted that between the doubling only a few hours earlier and the jumper that things had changed. _And __you __were __partially __to __blame __for __them__, __Detective__, __so __you __will __receive __little __sympathy __from __me__. __However__, __this __is __a __step __in __the __right __direction__. __SSI __shall __pay __half __my __required __sum__—__the __£500 __million __from __before __your __stunt __with __the __hostages __and __listening __devices__—__at__ 10 __pm __as __well __as __submit __a __press __release __notifying __the __news __agencies __of __the __release __of __their __financial __records __at __midnight __along __with __the __second __installment __of __£500 __million__. __If __half __is __not __transferred __to __this __account _(I don't remember the specific number, Naomi, and wouldn't tell you if I did) _by __ten __after __the __hour__, __I __will __kill __one __hostage __every __hour __as __promised_.

I passed the offer on to Ross immediately and he started to curse repeatedly, but finally told me that he would do it and that he didn't want any of his people to die. I dictated the account number to him and we hung up. I immediately updated the Chief that SSI would be paying the ransom and that I still thought it wise to get a legitimate negotiator down to help me, but he gruffly told me to just stall until Smith was ready to go and not worry about anything else.

Ten o'clock passed without fanfare or gunshots or phone calls. Smith, two other communications specialists, and I watched the television news feed in the van and bit our thumbs out of nervousness. Finally after seven long minutes (I remember because I checked my watch when the breaking news banner appeared saying that SSI was paying the ransom and releasing confidential financial records at midnight), the tech called and said merely, _I __will __expect __the __second __half __at __midnight__. __Do __not __disappoint__, __Detective __Fitch__, __for __your __sister__'__s __sake__._

I won't lie, Naomi, the next couple hours are a blur. Smith told me to try and get some sleep, which I refused to do at first, but he promised that he would keep an eye and an ear on things and wake me immediately, so I tried to sleep in the front seat of a squad car near the command van. I may have slept for a half hour, but I spent most of the time just staring out the windshield at the SSI building wondering if Katie was alright. I still wasn't sure whether or not we had done the right thing by paying them and stalling, but there was no going back now. At eleven thirty, I know I got out of the car to stretch and walk around again to check on the guys and gals who had been there for hours just watching the building for any sign of violence or attempted escape. Finally I headed back to the command van. I didn't feel refreshed at all. If anything, I felt worse and that things were about to get worse. I hate it when my gut's right, Naomi. And until today, that's exactly what I thought happened with Brian Long. Now I think they just got weird after midnight.


	14. Chapter 14

If she hadn't felt misled and lied to by Tony, Katie wouldn't have minded being forced to stay in this house. The cook was superb, the furniture luxurious, and the views over the expansive grounds were as beautiful as any old landscape painting Katie could envision. Flowers of every color were blossoming in the multiple gardens and carefully maintained hedges weaved in a maze across the grounds behind the house and along the edge of the property. There was even a lake in the northwest corner of the grounds ringed by a thick wood; Katie had discovered it on a chaperoned walk through the gardens on Monday morning after Tony had left.

Currently, however, Katie was sitting in the upstairs library (she had found a second smaller one on the ground floor, too), looking out at the grounds and wishing the leather chair she was sinking into wasn't so damn comfortable. She struggled daily not to enjoy the extravagance of her prison, but with every professionally cooked meal and discovery of a new room, that become more and more a losing battle. All around her, what must have been hundreds if not thousands of books stared down at her from their perches on shelves reaching all the way to the mahogany, lattice-laced ceiling. Antique floor lamps cast small pools of light on each reading chair and the curtains on the two tall windows were pulled back to allow the sun in as well.

Nevertheless, Katie had not picked a single book off the shelves; instead, she sat looking out the window impassively, her dead cell phone resting on her left knee. Almost immediately after informing her that she could not leave, Tony had sent one of his people to retrieve her belongings from the hotel she had checked into on Saturday. The man had returned with her clothing and toiletries as well as the fruits of her therapeutic shopping trip, but he had conveniently forgotten the phone charger plugged into the wall. Thus, she had no way to contact anyone as Tony had no installed landline. Truthfully, though, who was she going to call or text? Emily was absolutely out of the question as she would freak out and insist on coming to get her immediately. That would be followed by a shouting match over why Katie had deigned to inform her of her relationship with Tony Stonem. She certainly wasn't going to call Naomi, either, as they had barely spoken in years; more often than not, Katie made a point of getting in a couple biting remarks about her political career and left their interactions at that. Katie had considered trying to reach out to some co-workers, but they were the second-to-last people Katie wanted to educate about her relationship. The last person Katie had thought of was even less likely to be understanding of her plight: Tony's sister. While Katie and Effy had gotten on much more amicably in uni, judging by the state of Effy's guest room down the hall and the way Tony flippantly mentioned her name, the two of them were no closer than Katie and Emily were.

Katie closed her eyes and again chided herself for not thinking more clearly about going home with Tony instead of back to her hotel room. She had never felt like that was a necessary step before, so why had she consented Saturday night? Mentally kicking herself, Katie knew it was for the same reasons Tony had listed for keeping her under house arrest: a feeling, no matter how contrived, of security and protection from the darkness of Bristol. And while Katie had refused to get back in bed with Tony since Saturday night to spite him for tricking her, Katie _had_ slept extraordinarily well each night in Effy's bed. They had been the first nights since the standoff that Katie had not felt the need to drink herself into a dreamless sleep.

No, the nights had been a great improvement on staying in Bristol. It was the days that were grating on Katie Fitch, and things had come to a head the previous evening. Again she had insisted that Tony tell her more specifically what he was worried about threatening her in Bristol (other than the ghosts of her experience, which seemed to float right through any mental barriers she put up around all things SSI), but again he had just said that he was looking out for her well-being and had her best interests at heart. After three days of the same line, Katie had snapped. Leaning forward and thrusting an accusing finger across the table, Katie had cursed Tony out and finally threatened to call the police on him. At first Tony had just laughed at her, until that only pissed her off more. They both knew that she had no means of doing so. But Tony hadn't left the conversation at that. He dropped a thinly veiled threat that he himself would make an anonymous tip to the authorities that she was obstructing the investigation and withholding critical information related to the identification of one of the hostage takers. That had silenced Katie immediately as she spent the rest of the evening trying to riddle out just how the fuck Tony could know that she knew that sort of thing. On the other hand, he seemed to have unlimited resources to do basically whatever he pleased, and Katie felt a rare emotion coloring her thoughts about Tony Stonem: intimidation. There were not many men Katie Fitch doubted she could manipulate and win over, but Tony certainly qualified as unwavering and thoroughly impervious to her wiles...except when he chose to indulge her, at least.

Her immediate anger and disbelief had long passed and Katie had spent the morning sipping on tea in the library formulating a plan to get herself the fuck out of Tony Stonem's care. Because while she wasn't convinced she could outplot Tony, Katie was damn sure that the two guards assigned to her were much more malleable. They had been gracious enough to her over the course of the week thus far, but the biggest surprise for Katie was that they actually responded when she tried to talk to them. She had assumed that burly ex-military bodyguards would be mute, or at most have a robust vocabulary of grunts and barks, but the two who shadowed her every move about the Stonem estate seemed at ease carrying on any conversation other than fashion with her. Katie knew she could use that interaction to her advantage.

"Niko, it's Wednesday morning, and I'm bored as shit. We're going shopping," Katie called over her shoulder. Standing, she turned and moved around towards the large double doors leading out to the landing. From his post just outside the doors, Niko slid into view and blocked her way. Tapping the small Bluetooth headset in his left ear with a meaty finger, the bodyguard muttered something to the person on the other end.

"You can't leave alone, Ms. Fitch," Niko said aloud with a slight accent. "Bruno and I must come with."

"Which is why I said _we_," replied Katie hastily. "You, me, Bruno. I'm going to get some bags of things I want to return, and I'll meet you at the front door, yeah?"

Niko put up a large finger to ask her to wait. Katie shook her head and slipped around him as he muttered into the headset again. "No, sir, she say she knows that and wants to go with me and Bruno...Yes I will make sure we return before...Yes, sir. Of course."

Katie heard Niko yell out to meet him in front in ten as she disappeared into Effy's room. She quickly rifled through the bags of clothes that she had purchased on Saturday afternoon, picking out the outfits she absolutely _had_ to have and those that she only had to have, and left the latter strewn on the floor. Those she wished to hold onto, Katie folded carefully and packed into a large shopping bag. Her overnight Katie left emptied on the floor and dresser; however, she did fish out a handful of valuables and odds and ends, burying them in the shopping bag.

Quickly looking over herself in the bathroom mirror, Katie touched up her make-up and smoothed out the designer three-quarter sleeve forest green blouse she was wearing and twisted, admiring the fit of the black pants. Turning back square to the mirror, Katie did her hair up and smiled to herself. She moved back into the bedroom and slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable flats and grabbed the bag of new clothes. Without a second glance back at Effy's room, Katie headed down the hall towards the main stair.

* * *

"Oh my Gawd, he is like, so hot."

"He's cute, yeah."

"No, like...okay, like what's that word for girls here that date athletes?"

"WAGs?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna be, like, his WAG."

"Sure you will, hon," muttered Katie just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of voices, car engines, and music playing from hidden speakers outside various stores as she pushed past a group of college girls and into a clothing boutique on New Bond Street. Immediately, the noise fell to a reasonable level: obnoxious teens were replaced by measured tones of salespeople suggesting new styles to customers, the background hum of central air substituted for loud downshifts and horns, and the repetitive beats of the Top 40 gave way to the classic rock and pop tunes her parents had listened to as she grew up.

Katie noted that Bruno was staying put out front on the sidewalk, watching her look uncomfortably back at him. She turned and headed deeper into the store with the gut feeling that Niko had headed around to the back alley so she couldn't sneak out that way—or to prevent someone from sneaking in to her, if Tony's dire claims about her safety were to be believed. Trying not to consider that option, Katie wandered aimlessly through the store. Occasionally she would set down her bag and pick up a skirt or jacket and appear to appraise it, or try it on and turn around slowly to gauge its comfort and look. But it was all for show. Each time she held up an article of clothing or rifled through hangers on a rack, Katie was sneaking glances out at the street or back towards the doorway marked 'Employee's Only' leading to the rear of the store.

As Katie slowly spun a small display with earrings adorned to hooks on its six sides, she eyed Bruno who was leaning against a digital advertisement as a light rain began to fall. He seemed disinterested and bored, but Katie had a feeling that he was still fully aware of where she was in the store. Curious to test it, she made like she was heading towards the door, but decided that a display of designer heels to the right demanded further inspection. Veering off at the last moment, Katie noted that Bruno had become fully attentive as she neared the door and was still warily watching her as she fiddled with the buckles on the heels.

Furrowing her brow and biting her lip in frustration, Katie turned and shuffled deeper into the store once again. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at the upper row of blouses along the wall, trying to formulate a plan.

"May I help you find something?" Out of nowhere an attendant appeared wearing what Katie was positive was a required outfit of various items in the store. A thin black headset traced her jawline back to her left ear. She flashed a fake smile down at Katie, who replicated the expression.

"Can't anyone just fucking browse anymore? Christ, I'm just looking, kay?," said Katie and then added to herself, _and __just __leaving__._ She weaved a path back to the entrance, letting her hand drift over soft fabrics and pausing momentarily at this table, or that rack marked 'Clearance.' Finally satisfied with her performance, Katie walked back outside and headed up the street, knowing that Bruno had fallen into his position about five meters behind her—just far enough to not look suspicious, but close enough that he could keep an eye on her distinctive red hair. Rain splashed against her head as if reminding Katie just how much she could stick out in a crowd full of brunettes and dirty blondes. A passerby bumped into her carelessly, eliciting a 'What the fuck!' from Katie, but the hat he was wearing perched forward on his head caught her eye just as her anger was starting to rise. A plan started to come to her.

Katie continued up the street and came to a halt at an intersection, standing as if patiently waiting to continue across. On the far side of the street, the orange image of a hand glared at her as cars moved by in uneven movements. Amidst the rain and sound of brakes being pressed in desperation, the warning bell that the time to cross the street she had been walking along chimed. Katie pivoted and joined several other shoppers who were trying to beat the light and she walked briskly across the white-striped pavement. A horn sounded as a Ford tried to turn left, but was blocked by the people crossing as the light turned red. Katie easily stepped over the curb and wound her way through several large masses of people. She didn't want to risk a glance back for Bruno or Niko just yet, but the frequent shouts of people pushed out of the way behind her seemed a good indication that the two bodyguards were bullying their way straight after her.

Katie stopped and looked up at the logo of a popular designer, then looked back down the road. As expected, Bruno and Niko were pushing their way towards her, yet at the same time trying to appear as normal as possible. For two men that were easily over one hundred ten kilos, it was an impossible task. Smiling and waving at them as if unaware that she was worrying them, Katie headed into the store and bolted for the back wall.

* * *

Outside the store, Bruno and Niko pulled up short. They had not anticipated Ms. Fitch going down this street, and neither of them was familiar with the store layouts or whether there was even a back entrance they could get to quickly. Scanning over the people walking both directions around them, they stepped away from the storefront and closer to the curb. Niko turned his back to the store and continued scanning left and right along the street while Bruno looked over his partner's shoulder in an effort to see where exactly Ms. Fitch had gone inside the store. She was nowhere to be seen at the front of it.

"Ok. I will go inside," volunteered Bruno after a minute or two, when Ms. Fitch did not reappear. "You wait out here in case if I miss her inside. I will tell you if I find a back door or find her." He tapped his earpiece to indicate the means of communication and moved around Niko. Sidestepping a mother with her two young children and an elderly woman shuffling along with a walker, Bruno made his way into the store with much greater tact than he and Niko had previously displayed.

The store seemed to be a different world from the outside. Tranquil music played softly—the sounds of woodwinds and strings tinkling throughout as shoppers wandered aimlessly admiring the expensive wares. Bruno felt especially out of place. Seeing a sales representative eye him warily, as if he was an animal that would be more likely to race around the store and knock over every display than to come in and sit dutifully by the door and wait for his master to finish shopping, he headed straight over to her.

"Excuse me, I am looking for a woman who just now came in. She is short and has red hair."

Frowning and shaking her head slowly, the saleswoman said, "I'm sorry. I don't believe I can help you. When was this?"

"It was only minutes ago! She came right in."

"Why are you looking for her?"

"She..." Bruno trailed off as he debated what he should say. Eyes darting around looking for Ms. Fitch, he finally completed his thought. "She is a friend and I think in danger."

Eyes arching incredulously, the saleswoman began to back away. "In danger? Okay. If you want to wait outside I will ask around and see if any of my associates have seen her. Good enough?"

"Eh, uh, yes alright. I will wait outside."

The sales associate watched the mountain of a man turn and walk out of the store slowly. He cast the occasional glance back at her, but she had already started to walk towards a co-worker and was about to talk to him as the man finally stepped out. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stopped and walked past him deeper into the store. Flitting looks over her shoulder to where she could see the man standing with another man on the sidewalk, she auto-piloted around shoppers and racks of new inventory towards the dressing rooms in the back.

Without stopping at her intended destination, the saleswoman passed the dressing rooms and slipped into the employee lounge next to it. She walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it. Closing her eyes and counting to twenty to calm her nerves, the woman stood and walked back out into the store. She once again detoured on her way to the dressing rooms, slipping around shoppers to pick up a stylish black hat, black blouse, and large gold hoop earrings on a stand next to the cash register.

Easing around to the employee side of the register, she withdrew a credit card from her front pocket and, after scanning the items she had collected, swiped it. Snatching the receipts away as they appeared, she apologized to the co-worker who was working as cashier. Again the sales associate headed towards the back of the store, this time ducking into the dressing room when she noticed the two large men outside were not looking in her direction.

There were three cramped stalls on either side of a narrow walkway and a co-worker sitting at a small desk surrounded by mismatching clothes that had been discarded for different sizes or styles by past shoppers. Scurrying past the desk, arms full of clothing, the saleswoman approached the last stall on the right. Knocking twice, she heard the door click and pushed it open.

"Jesus, I can't thank you enough," blurted Katie as she took the items out of the sales associate's hands. She set them down carefully and then accepted the card and scribbled on the receipt. "Thanks a ton. You're the best."

"Don't mention it. I know how much of a tit guys can be. If you go next door into the lounge, there's a backdoor into the hallway that runs behind these stores. Take a right and go down it to the far end. It will let you out in Avery Row, and then you can slip out to the street down a bit. Good luck!"

As the door shut behind the saleswoman, Katie tried on the hat, smirking at the mirror in the small stall. Hanging it on the hook drilled to the back of the door, she slipped her top off and quickly began to change.

Ten minutes later, Katie had changed and was closing the door of the employee lounge behind her as a different sales representative called after her that it was an employees only area. Ignoring the man, she set off down the corridor at a quick pace, her footsteps echoing over the whir of air conditioning units and generators. She carried the hat in her left hand, the bag full of her clothes in her right. Pausing to situate the hat on her head, slightly canted to mask the right side of her face, she opened the door to Avery Row and strode confidently up the narrow alley to the north.

As she neared the corner, Katie slowed and peeked out from under the brim of the hat in the direction of Niko and Bruno. The rain had gotten much stronger than the light drizzle that had been falling when she entered the store, and it was considerably darker than late morning in April should have been. She could see them standing outside the designer shop where she lost them, clearly arguing about something (she would have bet that it was about ripping the store apart looking for her. That, or telling Tony), but they were still scanning the street hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Finally, Niko gave Bruno a little shove, turned, and headed straight for the store she had just left.

Seeing her chance, Katie quickly ducked out onto the main street and winced at the biting rain, but was caught by the light from crossing Brook St as she intended. Tapping her foot impatiently while cars moved by with wipers whirring, Katie hazarded a glance back towards her escorts, counting on the hat and rain to provide her some anonymity. As she was turning, though, someone bumped her and she stumbled, the hat tumbling off in the process.

"For fuck's sake, watch where you're going!" Katie crouched and shuffled over to where her hat had fallen, lunging for it and quickly shaking it off. Lightning pierced the sky, illuminating the city. From afar, she heard a shout and looked up to find Bruno pointing directly at her; the light had turned green—and the walk symbol illuminated—leaving her alone as the crowd surged across the intersection.

"Shit!" Time seemed to freeze as she looked up and made eye contact with him, eyes widening in surprise while his narrowed in predatory excitement. Breaking the spell, Katie stood and ran across the crosswalk, knowing full well that Bruno would be getting Niko's attention and following her. Ignoring the protests of those she shouldered out of the way or cut off, Katie made it across the street and continued up Moulton Lane, glancing back over her shoulder every few steps. Bruno's bald head stood out above the crowd, but she did not see Niko at all. He was slightly shorter, so it was possible that he was helping to smash right through throngs of shoppers along with Bruno, but Katie also knew he could be going back for the car and trying to get ahead of her.

Katie saw the walk symbol begin to flash and count down the seconds until 'Stop' ahead and gritted her teeth. Halfway across the intersection, she saw the indicator hit zero and switch to the glaring orange hand, the display ringed in orange light in the rain. Katie sprinted to the far side and turned around, backpedaling as Bruno burst through the crowd and was almost struck by a car accelerating through the intersection from the right. He lept to the side and put a hand out to stop the car, receiving the bird and a honk in response. Not waiting to see whether he backed off or continued after her, Katie fled north with the traffic towards Oxford Street, thunder rumbling in the blackening clouds above her head.

_Taxi__. __I __need __to __find __a __taxi__._ Katie swung left, weaving in and out of Londoners and tourists, eyes darting along the curb for a cab. She considered taking the tube, but throngs of shoppers were thinking the same thing as the rain continued to fall: the crowds began to thin as people sought shelter from the rain and Katie knew that it wouldn't be long until Bruno could clearly see her and would close on her again. Skipping around another group of college kids loitering in the middle of the sidewalk, Katie finally saw a taxi idling on a side street. She side-stepped a large puddle and ran through oncoming traffic to make it to the taxi before another drenched shopper could. Grasping the wet handle and tossing her hat on to the backseat, Katie practically fell into the cab with her bag tumbling in behind her.

"Paddington!" Katie gasped to the cabbie as she straightened and looked out the rear windshield. Bruno was nowhere to be seen. "And fucking step on it, yeah? I'll pay you extra." The driver needed no more incentive; he immediately floored the accelerator and the cab shot forward, drifting left through a yellow light, rain hammering away on the windows. Katie wiped the hat off on the seat as best she could, checking behind them for the silver car in which Niko had driven them to London.

Only a few minutes later, the cab rolled to a stop outside the train station and Katie tossed twice the fair over the seat. With a hurried thanks, she slipped out of the car back into the rain and put the hat in her bag of clothes. Katie ran from the curb with a mass of other travellers seeking to get inside, splashing through some shallow puddles.

Once onto the concourse and sheltered by from the elements by the high curved ceiling, she sought out the shortest ticket line. The bright industrial lighting contrasted with the darkness visible through the high skylights inset between steel arches. As it crept forward, Katie scanned the board and noted that the train she needed was leaving in less than twenty minutes. Looking back at the escalators to the taxi stand with a growing sense of accomplishment for getting away from her 'bodyguards,' Katie inched her way towards the ticket window.

Ten minutes and countless over-the-shoulder glances later, Katie purchased her ticket, let security check that the only thing in her bag was assorted clothing items, and was heading for the platform when she saw a familiar silver pull up at the taxi stand. Not bothering to turn the car off, she saw Niko leap out of the car and sprint for the entrance to the station. Katie was confident he could not see her from that distance (and that he wasn't aware she had changed), but the board showing the only train she could possibly be trying to catch was clearly visible to every traveller that approached the station.

"You've got to be joking," she muttered under her breath, and turned to run for her train. She looked back to see him trying to shove his way to the front of the line at the ticket office in the face of mounting opposition. Never slowing her pace, Katie scrambled down the the platform and lightly stepped onto the train. Heading forward several cars, Katie took a seat facing the rear of the car, pulled the hat from her bag, and once again situated it to cover the right side of her face, yet still allow her to watch the platform surreptitiously for the man chasing her.

A couple minutes later, just when Katie was thinking that the security at the station had stymied her tail, Niko came bullying down the platform. He slowed and began looking critically at every window of the train. At the front of the train, the whistle sounded shrilly, echoing in the high-ceilinged space around the platforms. Katie sunk lower into the chair and watched as the train began to accelerate at a painstakingly slow rate. Niko finally reached her car and Katie forced herself to stare straight at the seat of the chair opposite her so the hat would cover her face completely to anyone on the platform. Over the rumble of the engines throughout the car, Katie heard several loud obscenities rise from the platform and knew that Niko had no idea if she was on the train or not.

The train finally pulled completely away from the platform and out from under the shelter that was holding the rain at bay. At once it crashed down against the passenger car and streaked the window next to her. Katie took the hat off and tossed it wearily into the seat across from her.

"Thank God. I could use a good nap," Katie said aloud to herself, and closed her eyes.

"Don't count on it. Where the fuck have you been?!" a voice interrupted. Katie's eyes snapped open as Emily fell into the chair next to the hat. Almost immediately, she closed them again in frustration. _Fuck__._

**A/N: **A warm welcome back to Katie Fitch after a several chapter hiatus—hopefully her return was as enjoyable for everyone as it was for me. Thank you to all still reading; I'd love to hear any and all of your thoughts. For the handful eagerly awaiting the next bit, it'll be a while, apologies. In the mean time, hopefully two chapters in a week keeps you occupied. Take care!


	15. Chapter 15

"So? What were you doing in London? And why haven't you returned my calls?" demanded Emily for the fifth time. Katie had ignored the first four inquiries by staring out the rain-streaked window at the passing views of the metropolis and train stations grey-tinged by the storm. This time, however, she turned and regarded her twin with a look mixing loathing and indignation.

"If you must know, I needed to get away from Bristol. I felt like those animals at the zoo, caged in and fucking watched all day. Plus, I needed to do some shopping." Katie gestured to the large bag on the floor between them. "Why the fuck are _you_ in London?"

"Visiting Naomi to celebrate end of session," Emily said in a rush. She took a deep breath. "Look, I tried calling you, Katie. I was worried."

"Yeah? Well, don't be, kay? My stupid fucking phone battery died on Sunday and I...forgot my charger at home, so I wasn't ignoring you. But if it had worked, I probably would have."

"Oh, that's a huge relief. Thanks." Emily rolled her eyes and shook her head as Katie turned back towards the window.

"Don't mention it."

Emily looked down at her hands and clenched them in frustration. Why was her sister being so cold? _Because __you__'__ve __been __pressing __her __for __information __constantly__,_ one voice chided. Emily's rationale quickly countered with _You__'__re __just __trying __to __do __your __job__, __and __Katie__'__s __the __best __source __you __have_. Leaning her head back against the comfortable seat and looking up at the smooth cream-colored overhead of the train, Emily continued her internal struggle, downplaying the logical reason: _Thinking __like __that __just __makes __Katie __have __a __stronger __argument __to __ignore __you__. __She__'__s __your __sister __first __and __foremost__, __even __if __she __can __be __a __bitch__._ Feeling a smirk fix itself on her face, Emily look back at her sister. _Yeah__, __but __even __bitches __need __someone __to __open __up __to__._

"So what did you buy?"

"What?" Katie didn't turn as she answered Emily's question with a single-word one of her own. Apparently whatever buildings were visible outside held Katie's undivided attention.

"In London. What'd you get?"

With a small laugh, Katie shook her head and said to the window, "Ems, I think I can count the number of times you were interested in my fashion sense on both, maybe just one, hand."

Emily leaned forward and began to pull clothing items out of the bag. "Yeah, well, you can tick off another finger, then."

Katie finally turned and faced Emily. Tilting her head to one side and arching an eyebrow, she gave her sister the finger.

Emily mirrored her twin's expression. "I said 'tick off,' not 'flick off,' bitch."

"I know exactly what you said. I still respond with this." Katie nodded at her middle finger, then lowered it. "But if you're going to make a fuss about it, I'll show you."

For the next half hour, Emily tried to act as interested in her sister's purchases as possible. It wasn't that they weren't nice pieces, but Emily couldn't ever fathom wearing such expensive clothes, or feeling cavalier enough with her money to buy them. It had always been a weakness of Katie's, she knew, but as Katie went through pointing out the unique touches and intricate designs of each new piece of clothing, her mood got perceivably cheerier and boisterous. Katie stood to show how the dresses looked, making slight twists in the narrow space between seats. Even if she would never buy them herself, Emily could appreciate the fine quality of Katie's wardrobe. Nevertheless, she insisted to herself that she didn't envy Katie's fashion taste at all, even as another small voice started to protest.

As she was meticulously folding the last dress to place back in the bag, Katie boasted, "I don't think there's even a question. I'm easily the best dressed person in the office. I mean, if you could only see some of the outfits the women wear." She shook her head as if in mourning. "At least when you dress, it matches, yeah? I mean, it's not always flattering, Ems, but it's more personal preference. These girls just look fucking terrible. I don't understand how guys in the office hit on them at all. They'd even make you consider going straight."

"Somehow I doubt that. Besides, if their fashion sense is as hideous as you say, it'd just make me appreciate Naomi's all the more. There's nothing sexier than her business casual." Emily's voice faded off and she bit her lip.

"Ugh, yuck. For Christ's sake! Don't tell me that."

"Sorry." Emily blinked and cleared her throat, making a fist with her right hand and covering her mouth. "I wanted to ask you, what do you think of Ronald Yancey?"

"Ronald? He's a decent enough man. Means very well, but I don't think he got out much when he was younger. Doesn't really know how to live, you know?"

Emily shook her head and, picking up the black hat and trying it on to lighten the mood further, replied, "No, I mean to work with. What's he like at the office?"

Katie's eyes narrowed. "What'd you mean? You didn't interview him too—fuck, you did! I was unreachable so you went after my sort-of boss!"

"Katie, no! It wasn't like that," insisted Emily. "I mean, a bit, yes, but honestly I was just being thorough. I would have spoken to him eventually, whether you were shopping in London or not. He seems really genuine."

"You want to know if you can trust him."

"Yes, I do."

Katie turned and looked back out the window, where the rain was letting up and the train was pulling away from a station just outside London. She was furious that her sister had somehow cornered her on a train back from London, but Katie also knew that there was no way Emily would allow this opportunity to pass without bringing up SSI. Tony's weird warnings and even weirder attempt to keep her under house arrest had made Katie positive that the sooner all of this was resolved, the better. Unfortunately, the quickest way to move things along was to give in to her sister and spill everything to Emily. That was something Katie refused to do, if not just because she didn't want her twin to have the satisfaction of being right in all this. She didn't need Emily's help to cope with what had happened; Emily had been part of the problem in the first place, negotiating and delaying so that they were trapped in the offices much longer than necessary. Going back to the SSI office had been like ripping the scab off a wound that hadn't properly healed yet, and Katie had zero interest in indulging Emily's quest for every minute detail of the previous Monday and Tuesday.

On the other hand, if all Emily wanted was her opinion on Ronald's recounting of events, Katie felt like that was something she could handle. She was sure that Ronald recalled much more than she could, and he was upper management, so he probably had more access to whatever secrets those techs had been looking for in those endless stacks of papers.

"I know him well enough, yeah. I trust him for what it's worth."

"So if I told you he said that the guy who was killed that night, Brian Long, didn't exist, you think I should believe him?"

Katie pinched her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. "Wait, wait, who said anyone was killed that night?"

"Have you been following any news since then?" asked Emily incredulously.

"Well I mean, the Prince was caught cheating, so his marriage is probably fucked—"

"Katie!"

"Jesus, Ems, I was only half joking. Look, I remember hearing something mentioned, but I can honestly tell you that I don't remember...wait, you're not talking about when that guy went out the window, right? I thought he jumped."

"He did jump. Ronald told me about that too. He lived, but he's still in pretty rough shape and recovering. This was something separate. After midnight, after the deadlines had passed."

"Oh, right, I see what you're doing. Well, it won't work. I know you too well."

"What do you think I'm doing, Katie? I'm just giving you some details to jog your memory. It was a pretty major thing for Yancey to claim. 'Cause I can't figure out why one of my people or the media didn't pick up on it in the first place...Katie, are you alright?"

Emily leaned forward and put a hand on her sister's leg. Katie had gone deathly pale and her mouth was gaping open, but no breath was being taken in. Shaking her sister's leg insistently, Emily continued repeating Katie's name over and over. Finally, Emily set her mouth in a grim line and slapped Katie hard across the left cheek.

"Ow! Fucking bitch, what was that for?"

"Well, for lack of a better term, you got locked on, Katie."

"Right, well, that doesn't give you an excuse to slap me." She touched her cheek gingerly and winced. "That was a decent slap."

Emily looked at Katie expectantly. "Well? What messed you up so bad?"

"Nothing...it was nothing."

"Right, like I'm going to believe that."

"Shit." Katie picked the hat up off the top of the clothes in her bag and began spinning it absent-mindedly. The dew-covered landscape outside was becoming more and more interesting by the second as Katie tried to focus on anything other than that night. She was _not_ going to give in again and start spilling her story to Emily a third time. She was fucking sick and tired of Emily always being able to get under her skin and draw answers out of her

"You know how they convinced people Brian Long was real, don't you, Katie?" Emily kept the expectant look painted on her face and leaned forward slightly.

"How the fuck do you do that? When did you become an expert on reading people?"

"It's kind of my job, you know? Investigating?"

"Can't you pick someone, or something else, to investigate?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Katie. We've got over an hour left til Bristol. You might as well tell me. I just want to help."

Katie's hands froze, stopping from their nervous turning of her hat. She sighed, dropped the hat in the chair next to her, and looked Emily in the eye. "I know what you want to do, Emily. That doesn't mean you're succeeding. But you look at me like that and I feel like mum's asking me about whether or not I drank over the weekend. Thing is, I always found it easy to lie to her."

"You're stalling."

Katie groaned, but maintained eye contact. "If I tell you the rest of what happened that night, you'll leave me alone, yeah?"

"Yeah, absolutely," lied Emily with a straight face. She had no intention of letting this be the final time they spoke about what had happened at SSI. But Emily also knew if she told Katie otherwise she would get nothing on the rest of the trip back, and that was completely unacceptable. Emily picked her bag up off the floor and extracted her well-worn notepad and a pen. Flipping to an open page, she smiled at Katie encouragingly. "Whenever you're ready, Katie."

* * *

Okay. So, we were in that office, right? And the tech that was in there started shooting his gun into the pizza boxes and laughing at how freaked out I got. I mean, what a fucking asshole! He was shooting a gun—how else was I supposed to react? Anyway, I think I passed out for, like, five minutes when he stopped shooting. When I came back to my senses, the tech was sitting in the chair right there in that office, his feet propped up on the desk. He must have expected me to wake up because when I groaned and struggled to sit up, he clapped his hands and came around to help me up.

I told him to fuck off and that I could stand up on my own, thank you, but he ignored me and pulled me up by the right arm. Sliding his hand down to my wrist, he pulled me around to the other side of the desk. Outside the office I could hear crashing noises and banging around; they must have been setting up the cubicles to defend against you all coming in. But in that office it was just me and this tech with his gun lying on the desk, spent of bullets. I was eyeing it warily, and he seemed to notice, since he picked it up and loaded another magazine into it before sticking it in the small of his back, secured by the belt he wore around his uniform.

I stood awkwardly until he nodded at the chair, so I sat down slowly, but he didn't move towards me. Instead, he walked over to the pizza boxes and picked one up. Bending over, he picked the top one up and brought it back over to the desk. I started to ask what he was on about, but he slammed it down and opened it to show the listening device inside completely destroyed. _Your __sister __is __just __trying __to __do __her __job__, __but __pulling __stunts __like __this __put __all __of __you __in __danger__. __Good __thing __no __one __was __in __those __offices __above __where __the __explosives __went __off__._ I retorted that you would just figure out another way to get intelligence on them, but somewhere inside I really did wonder if he wasn't right on point. It sounds ridiculous now, Emily, but at the time with explosions going off and guns being pointed at me, it really did feel like you were endangering me.

"You know I would never, Katie."

Yeah, in any normal situation I would, but being a hostage all day and seeing your boss get beaten up and all of your co-workers separated from you, not to mention being stuck with the lunatic who was apparently their leader, had fucked with my head, okay? It did seem to make sense on some level. But as I was trying to think of ways you could still get the upper hand, the tech started howling with laughter again and walked back and forth wagging a finger. _You__'__re __a __real __cut__-__up__, __Katie__. __You __really __think __that __your __twin__, __Detective __Emily __Fitch__, __is __going __to __stop __me__?_ He placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward into my personal space, the pizza box open on the desk between us. I inadvertently stepped back, but stumbled and fell into the large chair behind me. I couldn't see his face at all, but it was clear that he was grinning at me. _I __know __who __you __two __are__—__she __doesn__'__t __even __know __I __exist__, __except __as __a __disembodied __voice __on __a __telephone__._

That was when it finally hit me that he knew my name, and that you were my twin sister, and that you were outside. It wasn't when he yelled my name before firing his gun into the pizza boxes. It wasn't when he sarcastically said I was funny. The meaning of his words finally slammed into me when he spelled it out. It was a good thing I was already (unintentionally) sitting down 'cause I wouldn't have been able to keep standing. I think I whispered how. And just that. Over and over, which was met with another round of laughter and being told I knew better than that. And while I was still sitting there trying to comprehend that one of the techs knew about us, the door opened and another tech brought a sandwich and a thick manilla folder by. The one that had been in the office with me brought it over and made a show of placing it in front of me as if it was the greatest meal ever. I told him to shove it up his arse, but that didn't seem to faze him.

He motioned for the other tech to close the door, then turned around and leaned back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. From behind those impersonal black sunglasses he stared at me, and I tried to stare back, but I gave up and just stared at the sandwich instead. It couldn't stare back, so I tried to set it on fire with my glare. I figured the less I told this guy, the less he'd have to threaten you with, and that you'd have me out of there soon enough now that you'd seen me and probably heard those gunshots. But you didn't send anyone in until the morning, and they got away.

"Katie, stop. We aren't going to go back over this. I promise I directed the Special Response guys to plan to go in as early as possible."

Whatever. It was the evening, and then the evening turned to night and you didn't come to get me. I kept staring at the sandwich. The tech just stood there staring at me. I mean, it probably wasn't all that long of a time, but it felt like fucking ages. Finally, he tells me that he has a job for me to do, but that I should eat first. I shook my head and told him I wasn't hungry. I couldn't have eaten if he forced it down my throat, Emily. I don't think I appreciated just how scared shitless I was, but that's really the only way to describe it.

"Well, that explains the stomach pains you were having the next day when they checked you into the medical trailer. You should have eaten, Katie."

Maybe you should try being held hostage some time. It doesn't exactly help you work up an appetite, yeah? Anyway, when it became obvious I wasn't going to eat, the tech shrugged and moved the sandwich to another chair along the wall, then came back and tapped his hand on the computer monitor.

_You__'__re __going __to __do __something __for __me__, __Katie __Fitch__. __I __know __you__'__re __familiar __with __how __a __computer __works__. __Today __hasn__'__t __taken __that __away __from __you __too__._

I replied that we'd just have to see about that and what did he want. _What __do __I __want__? __I __want __you __to __access __the __SSI __personnel __database __and __make __updates __to __it__. __Keep __in __mind__, __if __you __ever __tell __anyone __about __this__, __including __your __sister__, __you __will __be __dead__. __You __know __not __to __test __me __on __that__. __I __never __go __back __on __my __word__. __You __will __add __eleven __new __employees __to __the __database__._ He flipped open the front cover of the folder the other tech had left and emphatically dropped the whole thing on the desk where my sandwich had been moments earlier. The pages slid a bit haphazardly across the desk, but he quickly stacked them up, made sure they weren't out of order, and placed them back on top of the stack. _You __have __four __hours__—__midnight__. __Then__, __whether __you__'__re __done __or __not__, __I __come __back __in __here __to __get __you__. __Don__'__t __think __that __nobody __is __watching __just __because __you__'__re __alone__; __someone__'__s __always __watching __you__, __Katie__._

With that, the tech stood up straight and walked out, locking the door behind him. I flipped through the stack of papers and biographies he wanted me to input, none of which stood out except that they a mix of permanent positions at the Bristol office and people from London and elsewhere temporarily assigned to Bristol. That was when I first saw the name Brian Long. He was one of the names in that folder.

"So he didn't exist in the system until you put him there? Why were you helping them, Katie?"

Uh, how 'bout so I could live, maybe? Christ, Ems, it's like you have no survival instinct. Just because something seems wrong now doesn't mean it wasn't necessary or okay at the time. If I just typed these up, they'd leave me alone and I'd be alright for a few hours more. And like I've told you, I expected your police friends to come breaking down my door any minute, so no matter what I did, it wouldn't actually matter.

I was on the second or third bio when I heard screaming and people shouting out in the cubicle farm. Curious, I got up and wandered over to the door; I had forgotten almost immediately it was locked. Angrily, I tried the doorknob, but it didn't give. As I was stepping back, the lock rattled from the other side and a tech poked his head in, saw I was still there, and then closed and locked the door again. I took a quick step back to the door and slammed my hand against it, but yelling for someone to open it got me nowhere, so I went back to the computer. Slowly I began inputting the other "employees." I wasn't worried about finishing ahead of time. I mean, what else was I going to do? So the longer I took with that, the better for my sanity.

According to the clock on the computer, the tech who apparently knew who I was returned to check in on me around eleven thirty. I had all but the last two completed, and he thanked me for being reasonable and making things smoother for all involved. Then he handed me a grey jumpsuit and instructed me to change. I flat out refused to do so with him in the room and that I also needed to use the restroom. He checked his watch impatiently and then told me that he would have someone escort me down to the ladies' room after I updated the database with the last two bios. Gritting my teeth, I quickly did so and then, without waiting for him to call someone, marched right out of the room with the grey jumpsuit in hand and headed towards the restrooms.

Out of nowhere, a tech grabbed me from behind and held me close while a second put a blindfold on me. As I cursed at them and tried to fight free, they escorted me to the ladies' room and finally took the blindfold off.

"Do you remember seeing anything different on your floor, Katie? Anything they would have been wanting to hide?"

I'm not sure. Like, obviously there was _something_ they were hiding if I couldn't walk from an office to the bathroom like a normal fucking person. The only thing I noticed different was several tripods sitting among the tipped over cubicles. But nothing really weird or out of place. After they let me change and go to the bathroom, one of the techs blindfolded me and led me to a different office. They opened the door and whispers ceased immediately, which told me that whatever special task I was doing was over and I was just as expendable as everyone else for the first time since the morning meeting.

* * *

Over the speakers on the train, the conductor made an announcement that they were approaching Bristol Temple Meads. Katie blinked and looked out the window at the familiar sights of their hometown. Emily hadn't looked up from where she was continuing to write down furious notes. The train had slowed to a crawl by the time she looked up and clicked her pen.

"Katie, I think you know what I'm going to say."

"Yeah, that you want to keep picking at me for the rest of my story. Well, you can forget about it right now, Emily."

Emily nodded and smiled softly. "It's alright. I have something more to go on now, which is always helpful. Thanks...thanks for talking about it again."

Katie shrugged nonchalantly and ran her thumb along the brim of her hat. "I'm not doing this as a favor. I want to see them caught just as much as you do, Emily...hey, this is going to sound weird, but could I crash with you for a couple days? I don't really feel like going back to an empty apartment. Honestly, probably shouldn't have done for the last few days either."

Emily stood as the train came to a halt flush with the platform and other passengers began surging towards the doors. She looked around, adjusted her bag over her left shoulder, and snatched the hat out of Katie's hands. Trying it on, Emily modeled it teasingly. "What do you think?"

Katie stood and took the hat back from her, dropping it in her bag with the other clothes she had bought in London. "That I still look better in clothes than you. Some things never change."

Emily rolled her eyes and tipped her head towards the door of the train, where the last of the over-eager passengers were disembarking. "You're right. You're still a bitch."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I sincerely apologize for the long delay in updating. Thank you for those still following along. If you're just joining us, welcome! Only a couple more months until Series 7! Take care.**

Katie fished the keys out of her bag as they crossed the car park and drew nearer to her car. Emily silently matched her stride for stride. Underneath their feet, the asphalt was bright with recent rain, and puddles gathered around slow-draining grates and in places where the pavement had sunk with time. Ahead, Emily saw the headlights of her sister's car blink twice as the doors unlocked and she let Katie walk around to the driver's side door, pausing to pick the parking voucher out from where it was trapped under the raindrop-lined windshield wiper. As she looked at the date printed on the small grey slip of plastic, Emily frowned.

"You've been gone since Saturday?"

Katie had started opening the door, but paused and looked across the hood at her twin. Emily waved the parking permit to emphasize her question. Shrugging, Katie pulled the door open the rest of the way and slid behind the wheel. Gritting her teeth, Emily reached for her door handle, intending to pull the door open as hard as she could out of frustration with her sister, but her hand slipped and the door barely opened before settling back into place against the car frame.

Emily smacked the top corner of the door with a bitten-back shriek and attempted to open the door a second time, slowly pulling it open and dropping into her seat. She settled for slamming it shut behind her, despite Katie's sharp "Don't fucking slam my—!"

Emily turned to her sister. "Why didn't you tell me you've been gone since Saturday?"

"I did! I told you my phone died on Sunday and I had forgotten my charger."

"No, I thought you meant that it had died, _then_ you went to London, knowing that I wouldn't be able to reach you."

Katie shrugged again and started the engine. "Don't throw a fit just because you misunderstood something I said. I don't have to tell you where I go every minute of every day."

"Talk about double standards," muttered Emily as she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the downtown traffic.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Emily continued looking out the window, using Katie's own ignoring tactic against her. It lasted two traffic lights before Emily turned in her seat and grabbed the bag of clothes Katie had placed on the rear seats. Heaving it between them and into her lap, Emily begin rummaging through it.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Emily?"

"You've been in London since Saturday?"

"Yes! Christ, how many times do I have to repeat myself?"

"What were you doing?"

"I told you that already too! It's like you're not even listening to me! I was shopping, kay? Satisfied?"

Emily placed a blouse she had pulled out back into the bag and unceremoniously dropped the entire bag behind them on the seats. "No, as a matter of fact. I'm not satisfied, _Katiekins_." She let the nickname drip with disdain.

"Wonderful. And what's the problem now? I didn't buy the right color dress for this summer's season?"

"Like I would know." Emily rolled her eyes as Katie smirked. "You really expect me to believe that you, Katie Fitch, were shopping in London for five days and only purchased a bag's worth of clothing? You're joking, right?"

"What the fuck is your problem!" It wasn't a question. Katie's smirk had been replaced by a look of growing outrage and indignation. Taking out her feelings on the traffic, she swerved sharply around a car and made a tight turn as the light blinked from green to yellow, then almost immediately to red.

"I know you, Katie. Given that much time, there's no way you'd only come back to Bristol with a handful of clothes. It might require you opening a credit card or two, but you'd have too many bags to carry on your own. Not one travel-convenient bag."

"Fine, so if you're so bloody smart, what was I doing in London instead of shopping, huh?"

Emily shrugged, feeling that old overwhelming sense of superiority reasserting itself in her twin's demeanor, and simultaneously feeling one of resignation start to grow inside. "I don't know, alright? It just seems suspicious."

"Right, cause I was held hostage and my life threatened, that automatically makes everything I do now 'suspicious.' Way to back me up, Em."

"That's not what I said!"

"It's what you meant though!" exclaimed Katie, hazarding a fiery glance at her sister as she weaved through traffic on the way back to her flat. "You and mum always have to know exactly what I'm doing. You're free to do whatever you want with Naomi and your life, but you're always following me and prying into mine. _There__'__s _your double standard!"

"That's so fucking untrue!"

Katie turned onto her street and, after noticing that no one was around, gunned the engine and ran through a stop sign before slamming on the brakes in front of the steps Emily had miserably waited on the previous Friday. Rainwater splashed from run-off spouts at the edge of each building, creating a river that ran down the sidewalks and curbs on either side of the street. Katie put the car in park and engaged the parking brake, despite it being an automatic, so it wouldn't roll down the hill on the slick pavement. She flipped down the visor, checked her makeup in the small inset mirror, teased her hair, and snapped the visor closed. Turning to her sister, Katie affected a fake smile and held out a palm.

"My things, please."

Returning the fake smile, Emily shoved the bag into her sister's chest. "Here you go. I assume you're going to pass on staying with me?"

Katie wiggled out from behind the wheel and pulled the bag out behind her, making sure to hold it above the damp pavement. Positive her sister couldn't see her face, Katie let the fake smile falter and she peered warily up and down the street. Positive neither of Tony's bodyguards had made it Bristol ahead of her and were lying in wait on the street, she turned around and hurried up the steps to her building, ignoring Emily's calls from the car.

Emily sat back, flustered, and crossed her arms. The driver's side door remained wide open and she could feel the damp air slinking into the car. She shivered involuntarily and shifted in the seat. Apparently Katie was planning on coming back down, but why did she have to leave her so miserable? Emily unbuckled and reached over to close the door, struggling to reach the handle as she stretched across the steering wheel. After several tries, Emily conceded and sat back, unhappily returning to an arms-crossed, pensive slump in the passenger seat. A single car hummed past, paying much closer attention to the speed limit than her sister had.

In the silence that followed, Emily chided herself for pressing once again, and once again pushing Katie away just when some progress had been made. _Stop __being __so __greedy __for __information __and __just __let __her __tell __you __when __she__'__s __ready__. __Maybe __she __was __just __shopping __after __all__. __You__'__re __not __really __responsible __for __her__; __she __can __make __her __own __decisions__._ The problem was, Emily felt exactly like she was responsible for Katie right now. Her mind flashed to Katie taking grimace-inducing swigs out of the gin bottle while telling her the first part of her story. Yes, Katie was most definitely her responsibility right now.

Emily fished her smart phone out and quickly scrolled through her work email, impassively skimming over daily updates on every case besides the only one she truly cared about: the SSI case. She didn't expect Lewis to have made any major breakthrough since she left Bristol the previous evening, but any news would be better than no news. It took only a moment to notice there was not a single email related to the case. Emily dropped the phone into the cup holder and leaned back against the seat. Why didn't anyone else want a resolution to this? No 'serial burglaries of pool halls continues' or 'pervasive graffitiing of the benches along the river' case was nearly as profound or interesting. Nevertheless, those were the only things the Chief wanted her to pursue, if her email could be trusted.

When the phone actually began to ring and vibrate incessantly in the small cup holder, Emily jumped at the buzzing filling the car like a cloud of bees. The number was not one she had saved in her registry, but it did look vaguely familiar.

"Detective Fitch speaking."

"Detective, good morning. It's Devlin Franks from the _Post__._ We spoke briefly yesterday morning?"

Emily gritted her teeth and pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at it in disbelief. After a moment of trying unsuccessfully to compose herself, she settled for a curt, "I remember."

"Great," the reporter replied, although he sounded less than enthusiastic about Emily's memory of their conversation. "I had a couple of follow-up questions, actually."

"How can you have follow-ups if I hung up on you last time?"

"Call them unanswered questions, if you like, Detective, but I do have a couple questions. There's a rumor that you have been removed from lead investigator on the case due to a conflict of interest. Any substantiation to that?"

"I thought reporters were supposed to explore facts, not rumors."

"I've found most rumors to have shreds of fact to them, just as I'm sure the stories you receive from suspects do, Detective."

Emily rolled her eyes and peeked up towards Katie's flat, hoping her twin would reappear and she could hang up sooner rather than later. "There's no conflict of interest involved here."

"But you have been removed as lead investigator?"

"What? No! Mr. Franks, you had best figure out how to read between the lines, 'cause you keep misinterpreting what's written there."

"So you're not deferring to representatives from NCA and OSCT in the investigation?"

"I run my own investigations. I never defer. It's common knowledge and common sense that the NCA and OSCT are also looking into the matter."

"Right. But you don't see a conflict of interest here?"

"No."

"You have a personal relationship with Minister Campbell, do you not?"

"I do," said Emily slowly. All of a sudden she felt like she was in one of Naomi's press conferences or radio talk show interviews where they tried to catch her in a contradiction. What was taking Katie so long?

"And SSI's offices that were attacked are in her district, as are the homes of many of the employees, correct?"

"I don't know the exact delineations of her district, Mr. Franks. What's your point?"

"Isn't Ms. Campbell more likely to pursue strict regulations and legislation since you were both involved in this situation? Won't she want to protect one of her largest potential campaign donors?"

"Naomi has no connections whatsoever to SSI!"

"Oh so she stands to profit from their bad publicity?"

"What, no! That's not what I said."

"But the fact remains, Emily—"

"It's Detective Fitch, Mr. Franks," interrupted Emily icily.

"My apologies," he said with little emotion. "The fact remains that Minister Campbell must be terrified to know that you were in the line of fire dealing with terrorists and kidnappers, but she lacked the foresight to propose legislation that would help and protect you. How does that make you feel?"

For the second time in as many days, Emily found her jaw dropping of its own accord at the reporter's inquiries. She had never heard of this Devlin Franks prior to yesterday, but he had a particular knack for striking close to home with every one of his questions. She pulled the phone down and angrily pressed the end call button. She knew that not giving a response _was_ giving him the response he desired, but Emily knew that anything she tried to say would be twisted and misconstrued.

Katie pushed through the glass doors at the top of the steps leading up to her apartment building and started down the steps towards the car. In her peripheral vision, Emily noted her twin's approach and took three deep breaths to compose herself. Katie was carting a roll-along luggage case, black gym bag, and her purse; clearly their argument had not changed her mind about staying at Emily and Naomi's.

Katie placed her luggage in the boot and slid back behind the wheel. She paid no attention to the distraught look still fading from her sister's face, but she did feel the air of tension still lingering. Disengaging the emergency brake, Katie started the car rolling down the street.

"I only have one request, and that's for you two to keep your hands to yourselves while I'm around, yeah?"

Emily looked out at the passing homes, windows streaked with rain and shutters stained with age and weather, wondering what she had ever thought so great about the city her girlfriend represented. It needed a fresh start—the way things had been going for the last couple weeks, they all needed a fresh start. Yet, Emily couldn't help but think about Franks' last comments about Naomi's reactionary actions not being enough. How could they get a fresh start when they didn't know if the dismal times were actually over and past? Last night in London with Naomi had seemed so...normal, one of the perfect times when they didn't argue or start accusing each other of not caring or taking advantage of the other's emotions. Then this reporter opens the wounds back up and plants the seeds of doubt and misgiving that Emily had tried to scatter. _Right __on __cue_, she thought dejectedly. _She__'__s __still __going __to __marry __you __if __you __hold __her __to __it__, _the romantic in her argued.

Emily sighed a second time and let the lines of houses and aging commercial buildings melt into a earth-toned blur. Her sister's half-hearted joke went unanswered.

* * *

Naomi stepped out of the elevator onto the floor housing her small suite in the Parliamentary offices, hoping this would be the last day that she would have to suffer through having the cramped suite of a brand-new MP. The halls were nearly empty as most members had let their staffs leave and head home, either for relaxation or to expand the scope of their campaigns in the last weeks before the election. Naomi had emulated her fellow members in that respect; however, she asked Erik to remain behind one last day to assist in any Public Relations matters related to her session-closing speech. The response had been greater than they had anticipated. BBC had already asked to do a segment once she returned to Bristol, _Time_ had made preliminary calls about doing a piece on her rise to fame in Parliament as a member of the gay community, and a wide array of London and Bristol news groups wanted interviews or op-eds written.

Much to Naomi and Erik's disappointment, very few groups wanted to actually talk about her new emphasis on elevating the importance of domestic terror and crime in London's cities. The fervor of the response to the 'Good People' speech had overwhelmed and excited her, but people seemed more excited about how it was making her into a national figure than how it heralded a change in her political stance on issues that had blackened Bristol's reputation, torn apart the lives of her constituents, and, most vitally, struck deep into her personal life.

Prior to the SSI attack, the last thing Naomi had stood for was strengthening the power of Britain's government to intrude on its citizens lives and wield a wider array of tools to spy, deceive, and undermine people's personal liberties. Now, it was clear that her girlfriend needed a boost of sorts—one that Naomi could provide in the mandating of training programs, greater cooperation, and the stricter enforcement of already existing standards and rules that had fallen into disregard. What Naomi would _never_ stand for was a grandiose expansion of security armaments and the initiation of brinksmanship between Emily's police forces and the lawbreakers they pursued.

At the end-of-session celebratory luncheon for first session members she had just returned from, Naomi had noticed a measurable uptick in her peers' disapproval of her. Many of her fellow rookies, especially those not in the Coalition had never particularly warmed up to her (or was it that she had never warmed up to them?), but their briskness had been replaced by a barely restrained disdain over sandwiches and salads. They frequently dropped sideways accusations of using a tragedy to advance her career. Naomi could care less how they felt now—if she could continue to cull the need for stronger communities and a reasonable expansion of Home Security both around Bristol and across the Isles during and after the campaign, the Opposition would look silly for trying to fight her on a policy matter they consistently supported.

Naomi pushed open the door to the tiny reception area in her office suite and found Erik leaning against the small desk, hands in his pockets. Naomi read guilt and embarrassment on his face.

"Erik? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just...you have a visitor. He's in the conference room."

"I thought you said no one was on the schedule for today." She straightened her blouse and steeled herself for some overzealous reporter or arrogant lobbyist trying to cajole her into supporting some small interest group. They had come out of the woodwork in the last 48 hours as well, much to Naomi's chagrin.

"There wasn't. His name is Vic Patterson, he's with SFO."

Naomi chewed her lip, perplexed. "Did he say what he wants?"

Erik shook his head. "No, but if I had to guess..." He pointed at the television running on mute in the corner. The video was a replay of the explosion at the SSI building with a banner across the bottom asking "International or Domestic Terrorism?". Apparently the incident was still playing this news cycle, despite Emily's hopes it would disappear. Naomi hadn't wanted to douse her optimism that the people of England would move on, but she had known deep down that it would continue to garner coverage throughout the campaign as other politicized it, even if Naomi would not.

"Right. Thanks, Erik. Take the rest of the day."

Her assistant smiled in gratitude and moved around the desk to start packing up his things. Naomi pivoted and walked smartly into the conference room, hoping to deal with this 'Vic Patterson' quickly. He stood drumming his fingers on the conference table, back turned to the door. Naomi immediately realized he would tower over her; she noticed his shoes had a couple centimeter base to them, but he was pushing two meters tall regardless. The second thought Naomi had was that he was smartly dressed, but those two thoughts left as he turned and Naomi's breath caught.

If it wasn't for the slim, rectangular glasses and carefully maintained goatee, Vic Patterson could have been Freddie's Mclair's older sibling. Olive-skinned and slender with thick dark hair slicked back out of his face, vivacious green eyes gleamed out from behind his spectacles. Naomi felt her heartbeat race out of control.

"Minister Campbell, it's a pleasure. Vic Patterson, I work on international investigations into corruption and bribery for the Serious Fraud Office."

Naomi struggled to breath, let alone speak. She knew that there was no relation, but that sense of something ethereal swirling around her, some haunting dream trying to whisper to her pushed all words back inside. She swallowed hard, reached out a shaking hand to grasp his. With a small wave of her hand, Naomi gestured for him to sit at the table with her.

"You seem rather bothered, is something wrong?"

Naomi shook her head unconvincingly and finally found the power to speak. "No, Mr. Patterson. I apologize; you just look very much like a good friend of mine that I lost tragically many years ago."

"Oh! Well, I assure you, I did not mean to cause you any discomfort. Is this a bad time? I can come back. If it helps to cope, please call me Vic."

"You came across town to see me, Vic. What's your office's interest with me? I haven't been involved in very much foreign policy this session."

"I'm not here to talk about this past session, although your speech on Monday was inspired. You're making quite the name for yourself, and I mean that in a complementary fashion."

Naomi forced a small smile. She lowered one hand below the table and pinched her leg, trying to convince herself she wasn't imaging the similarities between her college friend and this investigator. As the small but biting pain coursed through her body, she blinked and the goateed doppelgänger still sat at her office table.

"Thank you," she managed. "So what are you here to talk about?"

"I can see you're still clearly bothered. I'll be brief. We had received a couple tips and accusations about Strategic Security Initiatives over the last couple years, but our inquiries never turned anything up. Obviously after last week, the interest in them has grown exponentially, especially with the publicity of the demands and emphasis on their financial records. Unfortunately, with session ending on Monday, there wasn't any time to undertake a proper investigation into SSI's dealings and the allegations of corruption that now seem to be a bit stronger."

"Hindsight is 20/20?"

"Something like that." Patterson smiled softly. "I'd like to know if you would be willing to lead the effort in Parliament to investigate SSI and expose any corruption once next session starts."

"I haven't even been reelected yet!" protested Naomi.

"We both know you will be."

"You think I would be willing to delve into the dealings and finances of a defense company that employs hundreds of my own constituents when instead I could be pushing through a bill that would expand Home Security to protect others from suffering the way the people of my hometown suffered last week—the way my own girlfriend was threatened and nearly killed! Vic, I appreciate that you think I would be able to lead this investigation as a relatively junior Member, but on the face of things, I'm not sure I can assent to it."

The SFO investigator nodded sagely and stood, withdrawing a business card from his jacket pocket as he did. Placing it on the table and sliding it over with one finger, he left it next to Naomi's right hand.

"Think it over and let me know, please, Minister. We could accomplish some great things and make some incredible inroads in the fight against corruption together. I hope you reconsider. Congratulations on a great session." Without another glance back at a still shell-shocked Naomi, Vic Patterson walked out of her office suite.


	17. Chapter 17

Carefully, Naomi wrapped the picture of her and Emily arm-in-arm on a completely deserted beach in Goa, backlight by a burning golden sun extinguishing itself in the ocean, and placed it in the large cardboard box resting on her small desk. Smiling to herself, she reached around the box and lifted the final picture off the bland desk, removing the few specks of dust from the glass with a swipe of her thumb. It was a portrait shot Naomi had taken the summer after they graduated from uni, on the last night of their ten-day escape to Cyprus. She knew there were a handful of other pictures—from that trip, or Goa, or their visit to Giant's Causeway—that Emily would prefer her to keep on her desk in London, but Naomi insisted on keeping this one, averring that it most truly showed Emily's character and spirit.

They had been walking along the cliff line on the western coast of the island, an aging but resolute lighthouse keeping its eternal watch ahead of them, when Naomi had joked it was only a bit more peaceful than Los Angeles, where Katie had decided to visit that summer. Naomi paused to adjust the lens of the camera in an effort to frame the sunset with the lighthouse. Emily had started to giggle and as her laughter faded away, she turned, startled at Naomi's sudden absence from her side. It was at that moment that Naomi had snapped a handful of pictures of the lighthouse, including one zoomed in enough to catch Emily's small half smile, quirked eyebrow, and the twin hints of sorrow and amusement that danced in her eyes at Naomi's quest to document the last moments of their visit.

Naomi gently set it on top of the other pictures, certificates, and congratulatory letters that were stacked in the box without wrapping it in the thin tissue paper. She looked around morosely, noting the impersonal bareness of the whitewashed walls, the harsh corners of the cheap desk she had used for the last year and three months, and the bland grey-beige industrial carpet. The oversized cherry-accented arm chairs Naomi entertained other MPs in had been removed the previous day after the mysterious Vic Patterson had departed. With all of her desk accoutrements packed away, it had ceased to be her office; Naomi was the last one there to clean up as Erik had headed back to Bristol an hour earlier.

Naomi lifted the box filled with her belongings and took the half dozen steps through the office door and into the small waiting area of what had been her office suite. She lightly set the box down on the bare reception table and turned to close up her office. The harsh fluorescent lighting shone into every corner, highlighting its emptiness. Naomi paused, her hand hovering over the switch for just a moment, then the room was plunged into darkness. She pulled the door closed and locked it quickly, looking down and putting away the key as she turned.

"Hello, Ms. Campbell. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Naomi jumped reflexively, her eyes snapping up to see who was addressing her in the (assumed) empty office suite. Osbourn Ross stood casually in the doorway out to the hall, both hands in his pockets, leaning against the metal door frame. His black-but-greying-at-the-tips hair was freshly cut in a light fade and his expensive three-piece seemed newly pressed. With his square jaw softened by a disarming smile and his eyes friendly, he seemed much more amiable than he had while showering her with compliments during their lunch on Monday. Yet, there was something uncomfortable about him standing so comfortably in her office suite with no one else present.

Unsure of his motives, Naomi elected not to play along with his geniality. Crossing her arms over her chest, she brought her surprise under control and affected an air of disinterest—an exercise she had mastered many years earlier. "What d'you want?"

Ross shrugged but tried to remain nonchalant. "I wanted to apologize for the rude interruption we had at lunch. We never got to quite finishing our discussion."

"Well, even though I wasn't pleased with his appearance, it did seem like Stonem hit the major points on the head. You want to fund my campaign to save face after this whole hostage situation."

"Straight to the point as always. Unfortunately, Minister, that's not exactly right. In the ballpark, to be sure, but not completely correct." Ross stood and walked into the reception area, stroking around his mouth slowly with one hand, crafting his proposition, but maintaining his smile.

"You are, of course, right that this whole business has, um, tarnished what was a sterling reputation in Bristol and England at large. SSI has spent many years developing our reputation as a leader in the community, a company that prides itself on placing the well-being of its people and the communities in which our people live ahead of our profit margin. The terrorists' insistence on trying to reveal some nonexistent skeletons in our record keeping—or whatever it was that they specifically expected us to admit to—hurt that image of my company. It was libelous, really, but there's no one to sue."

Naomi turned to look at the closed door to her office behind her. "Are there cue cards behind me? 'Cause that was the biggest load of scripted shit I've ever heard, and I've had to deliver my share."

The saccharine smile on Osbourn Ross's face faltered for a moment, but was quickly restored. He began to gesticulate freely with his right hand, his left buried in his pocket continuing the attempt to seem casual and off-the-cuff. But Naomi could tell that he had worked on this speech since their lunch with Tony Stonem.

"Come now, Minister Campbell. You can't be so cold-hearted that you feel zero sympathy for the victims of this attack. Isn't that what your 'Good People' speech was all about? Correcting the systematic problems in our security structures to protect the people we hold most dear?"

_Damn __I __need __to __write __that __one __down__._ Naomi kicked herself for immediately thinking about the quality of Ross's question as a sound bite rather than how he was trying to goad her into a response, but she sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot. Ross decided to leave the question rhetorical and continue.

"You've made it very clear in public announcements since last week that Home Security and providing police and national agencies with the funding, training, and equipment to successfully combat—or in a perfect world, prevent—such attacks is a top priority going forward for you. As it should be. You and I are in concert on that point.

"But there is one point I believe that we may diverge upon, and it directly conflicts with the principle one. See, there are those that would rather focus on the misguided and false justifications that these monsters made during their attack. That the public is better served by investigating the claims of mad men rather than channeling our resources into bringing them to justice now and in the future. I am concerned that you might find yourself in that camp."

Naomi shrugged. "I believe that if you break the law, you ought to be held accountable no matter who you are. Injustice has no place in our society, and unfortunately I see it every single day in different shades and hues. Yes, correcting our shortcomings so that this does not happen again is going to be a priority of mine the rest of my public career. However, the authorities have an obligation to pursue any leads they may find, even those that may be...discomforting for you and your friends who would prefer that we let you vacation in Nice in peace."

"Ah, your girlfriend. I understand your personal interest in this. But you don't have the luxury of letting personal emotions cloud your judgment on how best to legislate and administer this country, do you, Minister?"

"I don't?" echoed Naomi incredulously. "Last time I checked, I represent the people of Bristol in the way that _I_believe is for the greatest good for them and all of the Kingdom. Sometimes the system does not allow that, but that's why you try and build partnerships and coalitions." She paused and laughed mockingly. "You don't need me to lecture you on how governing works; you've been working over politicians since before I was out of college, haven't you Osbourn?"

"Thereabouts. Maybe longer. Which is why I think you'll appreciate what I'm offering you."

Naomi narrowed her eyes. "What exactly are you offering me, Ross?"

"The opportunity to secure your position in Parliament for as long as you feel like you can make a difference. SSI has a bounty of resources that it can offer and, as I'm sure you're finding out in running for your first general election, money can get stretched thin earlier and more often than you expect. There are a lot of people overjoyed at how the people of Bristol responded and were able to secure the safe release of our employees. They feel indebted to you and fully support your efforts to emphasize Home Security."

"I told you Monday. I don't sell out my votes for anyone."

"You're not selling out anything, Ms. Campbell. You're making the wise career decision. Bristol needs a Member that can represent it and its interests well."

"You mean your interests?"

Ross shrugged and gave a conspiratorial smile. "I've found they often coincide."

"What's to say that I accept and then once I'm back here, Coalition priorities and everything else stops me from working on Home Security? All those donations will have gone to waste."

"I don't think you understand. I'm not talking about buoying up just this first campaign. I mean every one until you retire. You're becoming a figure in the party, Ms. Campbell. And your efforts to stay above the politics and the gutter are commendable, but at some point we all have to come back down to earth...I'm offering you the ability to stay above it."

"You're offering to make me the prop in a charade while you're the magician making the table underneath me disappear so it looks like I'm floating. Doesn't sound like I'll be retaining much independence. Besides, what's in it for you, Ross? You and I both know that I may not be Bristol's MP forever. I'll move on to a Cabinet post or higher and you'll be left without a dog in any local fight. There has to be something else."

Ross finally took his other hand from his pocket and walked over to the table. He leaned back against it, hands supporting him on either side. He turned his gaze to look directly at Naomi. "I want you to kill any investigation into SSI that may arise, SFO or otherwise. Like I said, it's a distraction from what Parliament really needs to be focusing on in the next session."

Naomi's thoughts flashed first to Vic Patterson's business card resting in her clutch, which sat next to Ross's left hand on the desk. She kept her eyes on the SSI executive's, though, and willed herself not to make it clear that they had already spoken. She had not decided whether she would chair any investigation; however, if the CIO of Strategic Security Initiatives was trying to buy her allegiance for the rest of her time in Parliament in order to waylay an investigation, well...that seemed to be pretty damning to her.

Then she thought of Emily. Emily breaking down in their bed telling her about how Katie was drinking away her lingering fears and nightmares. Emily curled up on the couch, voice wavering as she described her sister's defeated eyes looking up at her in the break room. Emily staring straight through the mask and sunglasses sitting accusingly on their kitchen table. Emily sobbing naked in the shower. Emily dancing so perfectly with her in her flat just a ten minutes' cab ride from Parliament. Emily insisting that all she wanted to do was help Katie get through this and catch whoever had hurt her sister. Naomi's eyes shifted to the box of office belongings behind her visitor. Emily would be investigating the same things she was being asked to ignore and block from gaining any traction in a committee. Emily's confessions about her confusion and struggle with the search for answers had made it clear to Naomi that Emily was looking for the _why_ of the matter, not just the _who__._ Osbourn Ross was bribing her to disregard both. _Bribing __me __to __betray __Ems_.

Ross caught the falter in Naomi's stare and twisted to see what was in the box behind him. He straightened and let out a small noise of surprise.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" exclaimed Naomi, her voice rising as Ross withdrew the picture of Emily from the top of her things. He examined the picture as a predatory smile revealed perfectly white teeth.

"This is Ms. Fitch, your girlfriend? She is absolutely beautiful. Intrepid investigator, I hear—went above and beyond to protect the employees of my company. I must thank her in person some time."

"I'll pass along the sentiment," snapped Naomi as she crossed the room and pulled the picture out of his hands. She looked up into Ross's eyes and set her jaw. "And you can fuck off. I'm not taking a single quid from you or SSI."

Ross's smile disappeared instantaneously. His eyes flickered down to the picture, then back up to Naomi's cold blue glare with unrestrained menace. "If that's your choice, Ms. Campbell, I wish you the best of luck trying to undertake future political endeavors. And I hope you warn your girlfriend that the people who attacked my company were obviously very dangerous. Pursuing them could be equally so." He smoothed his suit and departed the office suite without a backward glance, turning and marching crisply down the hall.

Naomi felt her composure start to crack, but before she lost it completely, she pulled her mobile and Vic Patterson's card from the clutch and dialed the number with trembling fingers. In her left hand, the picture of Emily looking back at her shook violently. The phone rang, once, twice, and Naomi nearly hung up, but on the third ring a calm voice answered.

"This is Vic Patterson."

"Vic, it's Minister Naomi Campbell. Can you come to Bristol Saturday to discuss things?"

"Absolutely. I'll be there around lunchtime, if that's alright."

"That's fine."

The line went dead and Naomi felt herself sinking to the floor, the picture cradled to her breast and tears beginning to leave hot trails down her cheeks.

* * *

Emily had tried unsuccessfully for the last ten minutes of her drive to the SSI building to come up with another word to describe her mood, but 'pissed' was still the only one that she could come up with at the moment. On the train yesterday, hosting Katie had seemed to be a brilliant idea that would solve two of her problems: keeping tabs on her sister's whereabouts, and having direct access to an eyewitness of the SSI attack. It seemed a better solution in theory than practice.

Emily's efforts to massage information out of Katie after dinner the night before had been for naught: Katie began by being a smart-ass, responding sarcastically and dryly to the half-questions and comments Emily supplied her, but she quickly resorted to the time-tested art of ignoring her younger sister. Emily had decided to leave well enough alone at that point, picking up her dishes, piling them in the sink, and heading upstairs while Katie made herself at home on the pullout sofa. At breakfast, all Katie had volunteered were her vague plans for the day: "I don't feel like going out, but I might for lunch since your pantry is shit."

Katie seemed on edge, warily eyeing her phone charging on the counter and jumping at any downshifting car or other noise outside; even Emily's coming into the kitchen just after midnight for a glass of water had stirred Katie from her sleep and elicited a grumpy "Christ, why'd you have to turn on all the fucking lights?" to which Emily had no response except to look up at the extinguished hanging lights, back to the cracked refrigerator door, to the hanging lights, and then at her sister in disbelief.

All of that certainly contributed to Emily's downcast mood, but two other things were factoring prominently as well. The first was another carryover from her trip home with Katie. That morning, Emily had pulled up the _Post__'__s_ morning e-paper for download and quickly scanned through it. Sure enough, Devlin Franks had a piece written on the SSI investigation, which cited anonymous sources as categorizing the investigation as 'dogged by internal disagreements about its scope and effectiveness,' and 'undermined by the refusal of Bristol's police bureaucracy to step out of its own way and let the force's capable young officers and detectives take the initiative in moving forward.'

Emily was fairly certain that Franks had made those estimations himself, but was attributing some anonymous source to lend credibility to it; it was towards the end of his article that Emily felt her cheeks flush and anger start to swell.

'Most troubling of all is the lack of support from the highest levels to see this investigation through to the end. Detective Emily Fitch recently expressed displeasure with the support she has received since last Monday and was reprimanded severely for doing so, a source in the police confirmed. This comes amidst multiple reports that after being put in the impossible situation of having to negotiate the settlement of the SSI attack, Ms. Fitch has been pulled from the investigation by the Police Chief in favor of a national agency-directed approach. Detective Fitch is, of course, the girlfriend of Bristol MP Naomi Campbell, whose office did not return calls about the importance of Ms. Fitch's investigation.'

Emily's blood reached boiling at the point where Franks reported her reprimanding, which Emily was positive was _not_ public record. Nor was her write-up. So how Franks had accumulated all this information was beyond her, but it made her uneasy enough to place Franks' phone number on the block call list on her work and personal mobiles.

The third factor in Emily's 'pissed' mood was her moped. She rode her beloved moped to the train station Tuesday evening, locking it up under the designated awning near the entrance to the station, and had left it there, intending to come back for it after getting Katie settled into her and Naomi's flat. That hadn't panned out quite as Emily would have liked, but she figured that one extra night (and the extra charge for another day of parking) were worth it to make sure her twin was feeling comfortable and safe. Apparently she had figured wrong.

"Fuck! Shit! Fucking shit!" she cursed aloud at Katie's car, smacking the dashboard with her left hand. Emily peeked at the rear view mirror, picturing the mangled, piecemeal wreckage of her moped in the boot. How the train station security people could have missed someone mistaking her moped for a piñata was beyond her comprehension, but apparently they hadn't seen the two men smashing it to bits until they reviewed the security tape with her a few minutes earlier. No amount of apologies they gave her could suffice; Emily was, in her furry, considering a lawsuit for negligence, but she knew that they probably had some waiver posted that she had unwittingly agreed to when parking her moped there—something along the lines of 'Temple Meads Station abdicates all responsibility for the care and security of any vehicles (cars, trucks, motorcycles, mopeds, jetskis, fishing boats, jetpacks, etc) parked, idled, loitered, discarded, delivered, pushed, pulled, or air-dropped into any paved area surrounding the station which may in any way resemble a car park insofar as it pertains to scrapes, cuts, dents, bumps, chipped paint, broken parts, lost pieces, damaged equipment, stolen paraphernalia, or ruined apparati in, on, around, near, below, attached to, or inside said vehicles.'

At least, Emily figured it was some legalese gibberish similar to that because they didn't seem concerned at all about being held liable for it. Between the actual, irreparable damage to the moped and the _c__'__est __la __vie_ attitude of the people at Temple Meads, Emily felt she had every right to be 'pissed' about losing her first personal vehicle, no matter how frequently (or recently) she told herself that it was time to get a new car. Once it was actually taken away from her, the emotion of having something of your own destroyed crowded out the logical piece of her that said it was blessing in disguise.

_Dismayed__._ The apt word finally came to Emily as she turned off the motorway on her way to her least favorite place in Bristol. She smirked. "Sorted."

Her small victory was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her mobile. Hazarding a glance at where it sat in the cup holder, Emily found that, once more, she did not recognize the number. At least it wasn't that arsehole reporter—not only was he on the blocked calls list, but she had saved his number in her phone as 'Wanker from the _Post._' But this was an out of area number as well. Emily sat the phone on her leg and pressed the speakerphone button.

"Detective Fitch speaking."

"Hello, Detective. Is it a bad time?"

"Er, no. Who's speaking?"

"Right. I guess it has been nearly a week. Tony Stonem."

Emily felt her mouth go dry and her concentration slipped for a moment, the car drifting precariously into the other lane before she caught it. The last thing Emily needed today was a ticket for reckless driving, especially while driving Katie's car. _More __importantly__, __Ems__, __how __the _hell _does __he __have __your __number__?_

"I called the station and they said you were out of the office, but could be reached at this number if it was an emergency," supplied Tony to Emily's unvoiced question. It was like he could read her mind, and a small part of Emily wondered if that wasn't actually the case.

"Is this an emergency?" she asked skeptically.

"Hardly. I was just interested in seeing how your investigation is going; I did say that I would be in touch."

"Sorry, Mr. Stonem, but I don't talk to anyone about investigations I'm working on."

"Except Naomi, of course. You two seem very close—at least she and her campaign make it seem that way. I'm sure the two of you have no secrets."

Emily was instantly transported back to the previous summer, could feel the weight of the bracelet in her hand as she turned it over in her hand walking back to the police station from the failed attempt at a lunch date with Naomi. She could smell the rain soaking into her clothes. Then, above it all she could hear the terrified screams of people scrambling down a side street, and, piercing the rain, thunder, and screams, two goosebump-raising syllables that she would never be able to forget. No, there was no way Tony could possibly know.

"You seem to know Naomi well, Mr. Stonem. Well enough to have lunch meetings with her, so you tell me if we have any secrets."

"Ah so she told you. I expected as much. No, you're right; I'm sure you two are completely honest with one another when the other does something...questionable."

"I'm not sure I like your tone," said Emily. "And I am sure that I don't like your riddles...was never a fan of Effy's either."

"The two of us are rather similar in that way, yes." Emily had a feeling Tony was smirking on the other end. "But if you want me to be candid, I can try."

"You'll try? Look, Mr. Stonem, I think it's admirable you want to help and you're interested in what happens with my investigation and all, but I can't be your own personal news app. If that's all you want of me, then I suggest you find someone else to answer your riddles."

"No, I don't think that'll do at all. Emily, is it alright if I call you Emily?"

"No," she replied flatly.

"Excellent." Emily rolled her eyes and turned the car onto the street leading into the industrial park. She could barely make out the police car sitting behind a barricade at the perimeter around the SSI building about a kilometer off. "Emily, the thing is, I know that you're just the person who will be able to see this investigation through to its conclusion about why this happened. Like I suggested on Friday, the 'why' should really be your primary concern. Things like this don't happen randomly.

To that end, maybe you should talk to Naomi about why she's truly been meeting with Osbourn Ross, the CIO for SSI. I'm sure he would make a powerful political ally in the future for a junior member of Parliament...for the right price, that is."

"My Naomi would never—"

"I have nothing to gain from lying to you, Emily. Unfortunately I have to go, as I'm sure you're busy as well. Again, I'll be in touch." The silence that followed as the line was disconnected seemed to constrict around Emily.

"That's bollocks. You could have everything to gain from lying to me," she said aloud, hoping it would give her confidence, but clouds of doubt had returned to hover over her already dismal day. _Well__, __maybe __I__'__ll __make __a __breakthrough __in __the __investigation __to __salvage __this __trip_, Emily thought optimistically.

Emily slowed the car as she approached the barricade and a young officer stepped out of his squad car to come over and check her ID. Emily rolled down the window and handed her license and badge over to the man, expecting them to be returned immediately and the gate to be raised.

"Detective Fitch?"

"Yes?" Emily knitted her eyebrows together. "Is something the matter?"

He handed back her ID and badge. "I sincerely apologize, but I'm afraid you've been removed from the access list. I can't let you pass."


	18. Chapter 18

"Where's Chief?" demanded Emily as she whirled through the back door of the police station. "Now! Where is he?!"

The young patrolman sitting idly behind the desk stapling reports together looked up and shrugged. "I think he said he was going to be in a meeting with two suits from London. Uh," he paused and checked the visitor's log on his monitor, running his finger across it from left to right as he read each name until he found the ones he wanted, "some guys named Harlan and Underwood."

Emily took a sharp breath. "Where?"

"I guess maybe his office?"

Rolling her eyes, Emily waited for the click to unlock the plate door and set off down the hall, arms crossed in front of her and a scowl marring her features. She was just about finished with her Chief and his efforts to block her from doing her fucking job. First his hints and recommendations about looking into smaller cases; now, blocking her from even having access to the crime scene. Of all the people to obstruct an ongoing investigation, the last person Emily would finger would be the Chief of police; however, that was certainly what he seemed to be doing.

Trying to persuade the officer on guard duty had been futile; after Emily insisted for the third time that there must be a mistake and she be allowed to enter, the officer rested his hand on the pistol strapped to his hip. That had ended Emily's attempts immediately. The whole drive back, Emily wrestled with her anger until it got the best of her and she pulled off the road to scream at nothing in particular. Cursing out whoever had blocked her seemed to pacify her emotions for a few kilometers, but then Emily remembered the lack of e-mails related to the case over the course of the week and the rage returned. The Chief had to have planned this from the moment he called her and Pete Morris, the lead negotiator into his office that Monday, and that level of planning and deceit suggested more than a burst of anger at her performance.

Emily noted that the squad bay was much busier than normal: the number of rolling whiteboards covered in plot webs and trees detailing connections between suspects and conspirators was nearly double its usual amount and there were probationary officers scrambling over one another to get things done for older officers and detectives . Across the open space, Emily caught the eye of Christopher Smith, the head of the Special Response. He was sitting casually on the edge of a desk on the far side of the squad bay, an apple in one hand with several bites already taken out of it. He seemed ignorant of the tornado of activity around him; clearly, whatever order had been passed down to put on a good face for the national agency representatives had not reached him. _Or__, __like __me__, __he __just __doesn__'__t __care_.

Emily returned his curt nod and then flicked her head towards the Chief's office. He shook his head regrettably and mouthed 'Be careful' to her. _Talk __about __an __understatement_, Emily thought dryly. She stopped in front of office next to the Chief's, eyeing her imperfect reflection in the glass. Uncrossing her arms and making sure that she looked professional, Emily smoothed her white blouse and made sure it was cleanly tucked into her navy blue slacks, badge clamped on her left hip. Emily tucked a couple stray hairs behind her ear, took two deep breaths, and walked past the window of the Chief's office to his door; his blinds were raised up so that Harlan and Underwood could admire how efficiently all his people worked, but neither of them was looking behind and into the squad bay.

"Fitch! Goddamnit how many times do I have to—" The Chief began to shout as Emily opened the door and stepped into his office without knocking. Again.

"You know I never knock, Chief. Save it," Emily interrupted quickly.

Chief paused to work his gum around, jaw moving furiously. "Whatever it is you have to say, say it then. I'm in the middle of a meeting."

"Like I didn't notice. I apologize for being late. I'm guessing we're talking about the SSI case."

"What we're talking about does not concern you, Detective."

"Right. I had a question about that. When the fuck did it become policy for lead investigators to have their clearance to enter crime scenes revoked?"

"Language, Fitch," growled the Chief. Harlan and Underwood were sitting silently in the two chairs, craning their necks to look back and forth between Emily and her boss as if it were a tennis match. "That has never been my policy. Those not involved with the case are not permitted access."

"If there's anything I know, it's that I'm intimately involved with this case."

"You're no longer investigating the attack on SSI," he retorted quickly. The Police Chief reached a meaty hand across the desk and grabbed another piece of gum, popping it into his mouth. Emily recoiled as if she had been slapped.

"Excuse me?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I need someone detached. Someone without personal connections that could color their judgment. I need a detective who will work with the other departments here and be able to work in concert with Mr. Harlan and Mr. Underwood here to bring this case to a successful conclusion."

"I think that Mr. Harlan and Mr. Underwood should step outside while we discuss this, Chief," Emily said, her voice tinged with barely contained rage.

"We're not discussing a Goddamn thing!" The Chief pounded his fist on his desk.

"What the fuck! You're not even giving me a chance to defend myself!"

"Language!"

"I don't give two shits about whether or not I can curse in here or not. Nobody else knows this case like I do. Chief, no one else knows the people involved like I do. _No __one __else __was __there_," Emily drew the last line out, her voice shaking.

"Those are exactly the reasons why I'm taking you off the case."

"If I may, Chief," interrupted Harlan just as Emily was about to reply. The broad-shouldered Office of Security and Counter-Terrorism agent turned around to look at the Chief. "Detective Fitch seems to have done a thorough job so far. I don't see the harm in keeping her on."

"I do," groused Underwood, his gaze fixed on the red-head standing just inside the door, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "She has too many personal connections to the case. Her sister being a victim. Her girlfriend being the MP most affected by this. She's just as likely to be out for revenge as she is justice."

"You don't even know me," replied Emily coolly. "I've never misused my position for any reason, no matter who was involved in a case, and this one is no different. I'm prepared to see it through to the end and arrest whoever is responsible for it."

"But 'why' is the true question. Why do you want to see it through so badly?"

"It's my job!" exclaimed Emily. "Why is that such a difficult thing for you to believe?"

"Detective, you need to calm down," intoned the Chief. The other three turned to look at him. "Harlan, Fitch has done the furthest thing from a thorough job. Her efforts have been selfish, inadequate, and ostracizing to other departments on my force. She's spent too much time trying to chase wraiths and figuring out who did this. I want to know why. I would feel most comfortable having you and Underwood taking the lead on this and I will be happy to provide whatever assistance you two need."

Emily stared at the Chief incredulously. What in the world could possibly make him think she was doing such a miserable job on this investigation? She noticed a small, knowingly look between Underwood and the Chief, and a little bell in the back of her mind began to _ding_ alarmingly.

"Actually, I wanted to discuss her cooperation with the rest of the force," said Underwood as he reached down and withdrew a printed copy of her write-up from his briefcase. "Specifically, I'd like to talk about her accusations against Pete Morris, your lead negotiator."

_You__'__ve __got __to __be __fucking __joking_. Emily rolled her eyes and leaned back against the door as if she didn't care—it was a pose she had adopted from Naomi to deflect efforts to get under her skin. Giving off the body language that you don't care was incredibly useful, whether she was interrogating someone, or being the one interrogated. Emily had witnessed Naomi use it effectively countless times. Underneath, however, Emily's heart was pounding, knowing that the Chief would expect her to lie and contradict what she had written in the write-up.

"What about Morris?"

"Well, you accuse him, more or less, of dereliction of duty and not providing any assistance to you that night. The Chief, Pete, and I go back a long ways. Not once has a unit under his command failed to operate exactly as the book says it should. Each unit is always a cohesive whole, not a group of bickering school girls. You're telling me that something was fundamentally different during the SSI attack? I have a hard time believing that."

"Believe what you want, Underwood. I'm not going to contradict myself; I was there, okay? You know, as in, the most senior person at SSI that night? So whatever I wrote actually happened."

"Watch yourself, Detective," warned the Chief. His bald head was already nearing crimson, and Emily knew that the darker he got, the more likely an eruption would follow. "I'm only taking you off this case. Keep pushing and you might find yourself off the force entirely."

"Are you threatening to fire me?"

"He's giving you good career advice," offered Underwood. "Take it."

Emily faked a smile. "That's awfully nice of you. I'll think about it." She pushed herself away from the door and checked her watch. "It's getting rather late in the day and I need to get myself caught up on loads of other cases. I'll be going."

Without waiting for their good-byes, Emily turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

"Fuckers," she muttered under her breath. The squad bay was still a churning mass of officers trying to seem like they were actively pursuing every possible lead in cases that were, in all likelihood, dead ends. Emily spied Christopher Smith standing by the door to his office, watching her leave with something akin to curiosity. Emily looked down at her watch. She had zero motivation to look at any case other than the SSI attack, and leaving for lunch seemed a passable excuse not to do something rash that would get her in even hotter water. Emily turned and head back down the hall towards the back door of the station, already groping for the keys to Katie's car.

* * *

Katie popped open her clutch and rummaged for the exact change to pay for her salad. Finding it after several moments and whispered counting, Katie handed it over and took the salad to an empty table in the middle of the patio. She reckoned that if Niko or Bruno were in Bristol, they wouldn't want to make a scene in a public place. A piece of her laughed at that, recalling the disregard for public safety they had showed chasing her through London. _Perhaps __they __never __came __over __at __all__. __Ha__. __Fat __chance __of __that__._

As Katie slowly worked through her salad, enjoying the spring air and absence of rain for the first time in what seemed like a year, she thought about how miserable the previous night had been. Half-expecting Tony to call had kept her from sleeping at first, worried that the phone would go off, wake Emily, and then her sister would find out about Tony. Then, Emily had in fact come downstairs and her worry only multiplied. That the pull-out was a piece of shit compared to both her bed across town and Effy's unused one at Tony's estate did not help matters.

Emily likely thought her sister was being ungrateful, but Katie told herself that was the furthest thing from the truth. She couldn't tell Emily how she needed her right now—couldn't tell her why, honestly, but the two were connected as far as her snooping twin was concerned. The safety and relative familiarity Emily's flat provided (even though Katie had only been there once before, many years earlier) couldn't be understated, but they came at a price Katie didn't want to pay: information. It wasn't Emily's fault that she was always prying, trying to find out every detail about everything and riddle out the answers; Katie knew that she wasn't so different when it came to her sister. _There __didn__'__t __use __to __be __any __secrets__, __Katiekins__, __now __they __seem __to __be __the __only __things __the __two __of __you __have __in __common__._

Sadly, Katie knew that it wasn't only Emily she was hiding things from; she had only spoken to their parents once since being freed that Tuesday morning, and it had been Tuesday afternoon once the medical personnel cleared her to leave. Her mother had texted once over the weekend, but it had been after her phone died and Katie hadn't yet wanted to respond with an update to how she was doing. 'Being a dozy bitch who's scared to sleep in her own flat' didn't seem like quite the reassuring status Jenna would appreciate.

And that's precisely how Katie felt as she watched a crouton crumble under the force of her fork. Giving in to Tony and allowing him to dictate where she went and what she could do had been one of the most immature things she had done since uni. No, since before that. Katie glanced around the patio, checking to make sure Tony's guards weren't in sight, then returned to her lunch. What would Emily say if she knew? Katie had a suspicion that she may just never talk to her again if the truth about the past weekend came to light. She had scampered off to London to—what? Make herself feel safer by fucking away her fears? By buying them off in an orgy of designer dresses, blouses, and heels?

Katie took a sip of water and choked back the disgust rising in her throat. Running from her problems had never crossed the mind of Katie Fitch before, so why now? What had she gained from having Tony in her life? In past years, sleeping with a man with Tony Stonem's wealth, relative fame, and dashing good looks would have been cause for a party (or two) and a constant stream of boasts and taunts to her coworkers. But she hadn't told a soul about this. Not Emily; certainly not Naomi. Not Effy. None of the other women at SSI had a clue. Somehow Katie doubted Tony cruised around doing whatever it was he did telling the lads about his girlfriend—no, that wasn't the right word. What was she to him? Katie certainly didn't consider him a boyfriend.

Katie slumped back in the wrought-iron chair and looked past the black-and-white umbrellas hovering over the patio tables. Too many questions when it came to Tony. Admittedly, that was certainly part of the reason she had found him so attractive. There was always an air of mystery and intrigue when he was around, like there was some attractive force that swirled around him, pulling everyone he talked to closer and closer into his orbit, but they never knew why. Katie remembered her mom saying that their father had had a magnetic personality when they first met, and that seemed to suit Tony perfectly. Only it was more like the pull a planet exerts on small meteors and whatnot, drawing them out of their paths and into a perpetual loiter around the larger body.

And now Katie felt like she had ripped herself out of orbit and was drifting aimlessly along, yet fearing at the same time the inevitable moment when Tony returned to drag her back into his life. Part of Katie still wanted to be drawn back in, like a child playing with fire that disregards their own safety and the danger of getting burned to swipe their hand to and fro through the top of the flames for the thrill and excitement that accompanies it. But a growing part of her warned that there was no turning back if she did return to Tony; he had seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being, which was about as close to compassionate as he'd do, but the way he wanted to protect her was not something of which Katie wanted any further part. No more days cooped up in his estate admiring pictures and perfectly tended gardens; no more made-to-order breakfasts at the same table as Bruno. And definitely no more weird cryptic warnings about her safety being in jeopardy. If there was one turn off about Tony, it was those moments when he seemed to hold himself aloof and apart, tossing out crumbs of the deep insight he fancied himself to possess.

Katie finished off her water and looked around the patio. Closer to the street, Katie noticed two men sitting at a table. Each wore a button down (collar left open) and smartly pressed khaki slacks; one was clean shaven and the other had a brashly styled beard—at first glance they would seem to be two businessmen having lunch. But there was something off: They weren't eating or drinking. A strange tingling began working its way up Katie's spine as she looked away. They didn't seem like the type of guards Tony employed, and she didn't recognize them from around his estate, but Katie felt as if she had seen them somewhere before, though it eluded her at the moment. Regardless, the feeling they were keeping an eye on her was growing. Katie was thankful she had just finished eating because any appetite she had was gone, and it had nothing to do with the salad approaching a full meal.

Katie watched a mother and her two young children vacate their table, take their plates over to the disposal area, and leave the cafè. Katie looked back over at the two men, one of whom did a miserable job faking he wasn't observing her as she turned back. Their eyes met and Katie immediately knew there was no way she could clear her own table and risk getting caught in the people entering and leaving the patio—the men would be on her in an instant. As she was looking around trying to gauge the quickest route to leave, a waitress moved past her, two plates held aloft on a tray. She was headed straight towards the table of two suspicious men.

Katie broke for it.

She grabbed her clutch and briskly walked towards the swinging gate leading to the sidewalk as the waitress obstructed her from the men who had been eyeing her. A small voice said she was just being paranoid. The tingling and goose bumps on her arms begged to differ. Katie pushed the gate open and looked back over her shoulder. The waitress had placed the orders down on the table and was walking away, but neither man was digging in: Both were staring straight at her as she backed away from the gate.

Katie swallowed, turned, and ran down the street. In an instant, the two men leapt up from the table, deftly avoided a bus boy caring two pitchers of water, and raced after her. Katie heard shouts rising from the cafè, but refused to look back. She turned and started downhill, hoping to put some distance between her and the two men. Breathing hard, Katie paused for a moment at the bottom of the hill to look back, only to heave her shoulders back, inhaling deeply. The two men knocked aside an elderly man with a walker midway down the hill and didn't show signs of slowing. Above them, Katie noticed a bus turn onto the street and start heading downhill.

Wheeling, Katie continued running along the same street, risking repeated looks back to size up when she could slip across the two lanes of traffic and over to the far side…and the bus stop. Katie heard the bus's brakes squeal loudly as the driver tried to slow its decent down the hill. A single car was coming up the street towards her, but Katie thought she could make it. Another block and a half down, Katie saw the bus stop, three people standing expectantly around the sign.

Just beyond the gaggle of passengers, a man strolled indifferently, a hoodie pulled up over his head. The small glow of a fag flickered in the darkness cast over his face by the hood. Katie noted him as she darted in front of the oncoming car, but her main concern was getting across the street. The Mercedes approached more quickly than Katie had anticipated; the driver was speeding. Behind her, the two men cursed and stumbled over one another trying to cross behind the bus.

The Mercedes laid on its horn. Katie willed her legs to move faster, blood pounding in her ears. Her world narrowed to the small distance of asphalt between her and the curb. The blaring of the horn rose in pitch, then wailed away from her as the sleek black car passed centimeters behind her. The _whoosh_ overwhelmed Katie, but the thought that she was safe echoed clearly in her mind as she continued running for the far sidewalk.

Then the street was rocketing up to meet her. Katie landed on her right arm, an asphalt burn streaking her forearm as it broke her fall. Stinging pain raced up her leg from where her foot had gotten caught in a pot hole that still held her right pump hostage. Katie winced and struggled up to her hands and knees. Katie looked up as a second, deeper horn boomed over the block, clashing with a familiar squealing of brakes. _It__'__ll __never __be __able __to __stop __in __time__._ Katie squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

The impact never came. For the second time in as many seconds, Katie heard and felt a loud _whoosh_ as a vehicle passed a hands breadth away. Panicking, she twisted her head around to see who was holding her on the sidewalk. The hooded man was gasping for air. Apparently _his_ main concern had been Katie's well-being. Katie looked back up the hill towards the two men walking rapidly towards them.

"Up you get, princess. On the bus. I'll take care of these two."

"Wha—?" Katie felt strong hands pulling her up and shoving her towards the waiting bus. Passengers were hanging out the windows chatting excitedly and pointing. The driver was leaning out of the open door, peering back at the insane woman who had tried to run across the street in front of his bus.

"GO!" shouted her rescuer as he strutted towards the two well-dressed men following her. Katie heeded the order and climbed on the bus.

"I'm fine. Just fucking go, alright?"

The driver gaped at her but nodded, his three chins wobbling. The door swung shut behind Katie and several passengers hastily offered her an open seat. Collapsing into one, Katie tried to steady her erratic breathing without success. Out the window, she strained to watch the hooded man over people's shoulders and around light poles. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and drew back the hood.

"It can't be," whispered Katie as the man lunged for the first of her followers. Then the bus turned the corner and her view of him was obstructed for good.

* * *

"Oh! Sorry," said Emily in a rush as she bumped into someone in the narrow stairwell of the police station. She was returning from her extended lunch, and hadn't expected anyone else to be using the stairs. Stepping back and looking up at the person she had stumbled upon, Emily was surprised to find Officer Christopher Smith smiling kindly at her.

"Detective Fitch, just the person I was hoping to see! It didn't sound like things went too well in the Chief's office this morning."

That elicited a small laugh. "Yeah. Not my week, apparently."

"Apparently not. You're not off the case, are you?" Smith crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back on the railing as Emily shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"That's the word from Chief. I'm lucky to still have my job, really."

Smith nodded, then flashed a conspiratorial smile. "But you're not really _off_ the case, Detective. Right?"

Emily bit her lip. It was something she had struggled with over lunch. Should she continue to investigate SSI, even though the Chief had made it explicitly clear that she was not to pursue any more leads—that the investigation was now in the hands of Harlan and Underwood? Emily had never been one to blatantly disregard rules or orders; in her two and a half years working with this Police Chief, she hadn't been cited or reprimanded once. Apparently he had forgotten that in the last few days, and Emily was transformed into a pariah. The looks of wariness and unease that had followed her through the squad bay on her way to the stairwell had unnerved her. _You __didn__'__t __do __anything __wrong_, Emily told herself for the tenth time.

In her entire career, though, there had never been a case like this one. It was more complex, more dangerous, and more enthralling than anything Emily could have imagined. Most importantly, though, was how personal it was from the start. She didn't think that was intentional, but there was no avoiding it with SSI being the target. Emily had mused during lunch that the personal connection had a great deal to do with the triple role of negotiator, Special Response operator, and investigator that had become her burden to bear throughout the thirty hour standoff.

But then there was Katie. It wasn't just that initial tie to her twin; trying to get through to Katie and help her recover had been a completely different challenge that Emily still felt she was struggling to meet. There were glimpses of getting through to Katie, but those were frequently squandered by some new revelation or confession that polarized the two of them, or Katie just got overwhelmed by her experiences and closed up. That reflex would take time to disappear, Emily knew. But she would keep trying to get through to Katie regardless of her response. Even if she wasn't assigned to the case, reaching out to her sister was her top priority. Katie was family.

As was Naomi, for all intents and purposes, and she had become embroiled in all of this as well. Her response to the crisis and inspirational addresses over the last week had transformed her girlfriend from a junior Member of Parliament into one of the most visible, recognizable members of the Coalition. She was planning on returning to Bristol for a community service opportunity tomorrow, getting out and working with the families of those affected in the attack to plant trees in a park along the docks. While Emily knew such events were phenomenal for publicity, the emotion and conviction that radiated off of Naomi when helping others achieve things they never imagined possible was completely real. For someone who had been abrupt and quick to rebuke anyone who approached her when they first met so many years ago, Naomi had a knack for connecting with strangers and making them feel as if she would put herself out there for them in any situation. Emily had teased her that of all the traits to leech from her, Naomi had chosen empathy, the one most easily twisted to helping her political career.

Smith must have seen the storm of emotions cloud her features because he reached out and placed a firm hand on Emily's shoulder. "Is everything okay? I get it that this is bothering you."

"That's sweet of you, but I'm not sure you do, Officer Smith."

"Christopher."

"Right." Emily took a deep breath and looked around at nothing in particular. "Truth is, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I still need closure, I think, but I'm afraid that I'll do more harm than good if I keep poking around. I dunno...Anything I find will be met with skepticism from Chief and Harlan and Underwood. I couldn't take it if I knew I found out who did this or why they did it, only for it to be dismissed in court and someone goes free."

"Well, I hardly think you'll do more harm than good. From my view, you're still a Detective, aren't you? Anything you find legally in town, or at SSI, is still permissible."

"But I don't have access to SSI. If there are any clues I've missed, they're there."

Smith gave Emily another conspiratorial grin and patted her shoulder. "You're pretty resourceful, Emily. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Leaving it at that, he started to head upstairs to the ground floor of the station. Emily bit her lip once more, awkwardly standing in the stairwell as the sound of Smith's footfalls faded. Emily looked down at the floor, wishing she had some sort of answer to just one of the myriad questions rattling around her head. Then she noticed something lying where Smith had been standing.

"What the fuck?" Emily stooped towards the landing, holding back her bag from spilling everywhere. A blue and white key card lay on the ground with the black magnetic strip facing the ceiling. Emily reached out and turned it over, curious. Three large block letters covered the entire front face of the key card, three letters Emily felt she saw every time she blinked.

Stashing the SSI key card in her pocket, Emily made her way down to her temporary office. What in the world did Smith think she could do with a key to the SSI building if she couldn't even get past the security barricade?

Emily opened the door to the office and was properly blind-sided by Lewis Adams. He scrambled out from behind his bird's nest of a desk grasping several papers in either hand.

"Emily! You won't believe this!" He blocked her path to the back corner of the office, eyes dancing behind his glasses.

Smiling in spite of herself, Emily deftly made some extra space between them and set her bag down near her desk. "Yes, Lewis? What's the matter?"

"Well, I've been going over the copy of the financial records the news stations received that night. You know? The ones SSI delivered over an hour late?"

"Ok, we've had those since last week. So what?"

Lewis waved the papers around excitedly. "They're falsified. I don't know how someone missed it, but they're incomplete."

Emily felt her heart start to pound in her chest. This was exactly the kind of break she needed to turn her investigation around…Emily winced and staggered around her desk, collapsing in the chair. She buried her head in her hands. It wasn't _her_ investigation any more. She shouldn't be hearing any of this. She should be telling Lewis to bound upstairs, three stairs at a time, and wave the financial records in Underwood's smug face. But Lewis was rambling on

"—must've been why they delayed, so they could doctor them. It's not immediately obvious, but if someone put a considerable amount of time in, say eighteen hours a day for three days, then the discrepancies leap out at you. I mean, bloody hell, that's quite a sum to be unaccounted for!"

"How much?" Emily found herself whispering. Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and the key card seemed to burning a hole through her pants to scald her skin, a sense of daring spreading all over and consuming her.

"Sorry?"

"How much, Lewis? How much!" Emily's voice got raspier with each repetition.

"If my calculations are correct, and I believe they are, then it's something like £450 million every year for at least the last five years. It gets a tad murky with all the acquisitions and mergers before then, so I lost track around £500 million for five to ten years ago combined…"

He continued to rattle off numbers, but Emily couldn't follow as her head whirled faster and faster. Billions of pounds unaccounted for. Ronald Yancey saying all the paper records were being temporarily stored on the fourth floor. £450 million every year. Brian Long never existed until Katie put him in the system in the SSI building that night. Not a single tech was found, partly due to Katie's inputs that ruined the correct employee roster on the system. SSI delaying the deadline to submit their financial records. £450 million every year. Tony Stonem. Katie and Ronald beaten. Osbourn Ross? At least that's the name—£450 million every year.

Emily stood up on shaky legs and put up a single finger to quiet Lewis. Miraculously, he quit delivering stats and numbers immediately. Emily slowly made her way across the office and down the hall. She leaned as heavily as her slight frame would allow on the water fountain and drank deeply. £450 million every year. Emily paused and tried to take some deep breaths.

_What __are __you __going __to __do __about __this__, __Ems__?_ Emily took another couple gulps of water.

"Detective Fitch? Are you okay?" called Lewis from the door to their office. She nodded and turned slightly so that he couldn't see as Emily pulled the SSI key card out and turned it over in her hand.

"_You__'__re __pretty __resourceful__, __Emily__. __I__'__m __sure __you__'__ll __think __of __something__,_ Officer Smith had said. If she couldn't just drive right up to the building, she'd need to get in when the guards at the barricade wouldn't be able to see her at all. Naomi wouldn't be back until late, if at all, and Katie seemed to want nothing to do with her sister except to hide in her flat.

_If __you__'__re __going __to __do __this__, __girl__, __do __it __tonight __before __you __have __second __thoughts__. __There__'__s __no __going __back once you do__._ Emily turned the key card over again. Ronald Yancey's voice wafted up through her memory: "_I __put __a __hand __on __them __and __quickly __slid __them __underneath __the __vending __machines_."

_Every __day __that __passes __is __another __chance __for __something __to __go __undiscovered__, _Emily told herself grimly. The key card was feeling heavier and heavier. She took another quick drink and wiped her hand across her mouth.

Emily thought about her perfect service record, and then the concern over it was washed away at the thought of Katie not being able to have any closure, the terrorists allowed to go free, never identified or caught. That was unacceptable, and the key to making sure that didn't happen rested in her hand. Emily started heading back to the office, sliding the key card into the front pocket of her pants. Lewis eyed her anxiously as Emily strode back into their office and began collecting her things.

"I'm going to call it an early day, Lewis. It's been a bit crazy, honestly."

"Oh. Yes, it has been very exciting for me as well. I'm going to keep digging through the mergers and older records. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Emily turned just as she was heading out of the room and gave Lewis a genuine smile. "Of course. Good work today, Lewis. Really, really good job."

"Thanks, Detective. Have a safe night."

Emily paused in the midst of turning to leave. Her lips quirked in a tiny smile. _If __only __you __knew, __Lewis__._ Adjusting the bag on her left shoulder, Emily headed for the stairs.

**A/N: **Yes, this was a really long one. Yes, it covered a lot of ground. Sorry for not being sorry?. Comments and conjecture are most certainly welcome, and a huge thank you to those who already have provided them! Take care!


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **I don't usually chime in on consecutive chapters, but this has been one I've been looking forward to since starting this whole journey, and writing it was an absolute blast. Huge shout out to **amp24 **and **tiffythetitan** and everyone else that's taken the time to chip in comments and reviews. No worries—there's plenty more to come. So without further ado...

* * *

_I __cannot __believe __I__'__m __doing __this__. __I __cannot __believe __I__'__m __doing __this__. __If __Naomi __knew __I __was __doing __this__..._

Emily peered between the branches of the small tree behind which she crouched in the center of the parking lot surrounding the SSI building. Halfway down the aisle of perfectly parallel, ghostly white lines a light post loomed, casting bleak light on two ellipses of black asphalt. As part of her still insisted on not believing where she was, Emily scanned the barren landscape between her and the building. Off to her left, on the far side of the building, was the barricades and entry gate; she had hidden Katie's car in the loading dock at the back of a supply-chain distribution center three kilometers away from the SSI building. The technology park in which it was situated was massive, something Emily was grateful for at the late hour: the police had barely been able to maintain a cohesive perimeter when the majority of the force responded to the hostage crisis, but now that it was only a crime scene and much of the initial sweep for evidence was complete, the manning to protect it was minimal.

Which is why Emily felt comfortable resting for a moment, fifty meters from the back of the building, and catching her breath. It had taken just over an hour to move this close, darting to and from the sparse cover available and keeping alert for any roving patrols or the occasional sweep of a spotlight. As far as Emily could tell, they only swept it around once an hour from someone holding it on the roof (the bobbing and weaving of the light suggested it was handheld and not a fixed light swiveling perfectly from a mount). Furthermore, there seemed to be only two guards responsible for patrolling the parking lots—two incredibly lazy and bored patrolmen since they spent most of their time standing on one of the building or the other having a smoke.

On cue, Emily spotted one come around the corner of the building to her right, the tiny torch in his hand a pinprick of light in the midnight darkness. He waved it half-heartedly across the handicap parking spaces abutting the sidewalk, then turned around and took a few steps back the way he had come. His partner's danced across the pavement between them as they approached one another. Then the small flicker of a lighter winked in and out of existence, replaced by two miniscule dots of flame.

Emily imagined she could smell the all-too-familiar fumes of the fags as a cool breeze brushed past her face, sending a shiver down her arms. Reflexively, she ran her hands down opposite arms, rubbing through the black fabric for some warmth. Tugging on the ends of the sleeves, Emily took three deep breaths and began padding across the last few aisles of the parking lot, her trainers falling silently on the pavement.

Suddenly, the spotlight on the roof snapped on, drenching a spot of the parking lot to Emily's left. Her head snapped towards it instinctively, noting its slow movement towards her. Emily bit her lip and picked up her pace, continuing to crouch low and sneak towards the lines of bushes that surrounded this side of the building and hid generators and air conditioning units. With every step, Emily flicked her eyes toward the spotlight closing on the aisle she had just traversed.

The bushes were only a couple dozen steps away when the brightness in her peripheral vision began to increase in intensity. Tucking her head, Emily ran as quickly as she could while maintaining a slight crouch. Still the spotlight closed on where she had just been, weaving an irregular route across the lot. Emily veered towards the small seam cut in the hedges and tossed herself at it, absorbing the impact of the still-saturated landscaping with her shoulder, tucking her arms to her chest, and rolling like a pencil once, twice, three times before coming to a stop on her stomach with the hedges prickling the fingertips of her left hand. The spotlight continued its canvassing of the parking lot without dipping down towards her hiding spot.

Emily took a long exhale and shook her head ruefully. She rubbed the spots on her sides where the torch and pocket knife on her belt had pressed into her while rolling. _That __was __a __bit __too __close__, __Ems__. __Now__, __to __get __inside__._

Pushing herself up to a crouch, Emily spun on the balls of her feet and snuck towards the service door she remembered being there from the planning they had done for the raid. It would place her just outside a lounge on the first floor, and taking a right down the hallway would loop back around to the stairwell she and Katie had used to walk upstairs the previous Friday. But first, there was the matter of getting in the door.

Emily momentarily leaned around the hedge to look across the parking lot behind her: it was deserted, the spotlight moving on to where the two patrolmen were still having a smoke. Satisfied no one could see her intrusion, Emily slipped along the sidewalk up to the door and, after another quick check behind her, withdrew the key card from her back pocket. Holding her breath, she pressed it to the raised, grey square just above the door handle.

There was a pause that seemed to stretch on for hours, then the small red light on the reader winked out and a green light just above it began to flash as a soft _click_ emanated from inside the door. Emily pulled down on the handle firmly and eased open the door until it was wide enough for her to slide in, right shoulder first, then the rest of her body. Pivoting on her right foot, she caught the rapidly closing door and slowed its closure while peering into the darkness of the hallway leading into the bowels of SSI.

Emily blinked slowly and remained completely still, letting her eyes adjust to the more complete darkness—the main floor seemed only to be lit by the emergency 'EXIT' signs giving off a faint red glow and small red track lights placed at long but regular intervals along the baseboards—and straining to hear any sound of a patrol walking about the halls. Above her head, a whisper of air conditioning trickled out of a vent; the 'EXIT' sign made a barely audible buzzing. The sound of human footfalls was conspicuously absent.

Emily stood slowly and started cautiously walking along the hall, keeping her left hand outstretched ahead of her along the wall, feeling for any doorways or protrusions, and her right pressed to the slim torch hanging on her hip so it wouldn't inadvertently knock against anything. Reaching the corner of the hall, Emily stopped and shuffled forward, craning her neck around to peek in both directions: towards another rear service door at one end, and down to the intersection at the front end of the building where the stairs led up to the other floors. That end of the hall was more brightly lit from some lighting out of sight to Emily; she guessed there were lights set up in the lobby that spilled over down the hall.

Confident that the hall was empty, Emily eased around the corner and began moving towards the front side of the building, eyes darting back and forth and over her shoulder making sure she was alone. As she neared the end of the second hall, Emily glided across to the other side and took three small, tentative shuffles until the stairwell door was just out of reach. Pausing again to listen for the sounds of any police officers, Emily closed her eyes and waited. Still nothing. Steeling herself, Emily inhaled and lunged forward, pushing through the door and quickly closing it again behind herself.

The stairwell was dimly lit by old emergency lighting hanging up in the corners of each landing. Each footfall on the concrete seemed to reverberate obnoxiously up and down as Emily made her way up to the third floor. With each step, her heart rate picked up as well, going from the quick beating she usually equated with an intense workout or long run to an all-out pounding that seemed just as loud as her steps. Between the risk of running into a roving officer and the terrible excitement of being back at SSI, Emily felt wide awake and completely aware, despite how hard her heart seemed to be working and how stressful the previous day had been. What she didn't want to consider was the crash that would inevitably follow once the adrenaline wore off.

Emily crouched again a couple steps below the landing for the third floor, sidling up to the door and looking out of the small rectangular inset window at the mess of the primary crime scene. She could tell from the red glow on the other side of the glass that there was an 'EXIT' sign above the stairwell door she was peering through; on the other side of the hall was another, but the glow showed 'Caution' tape still displayed diagonally across that door, preventing people from trying to use the stairs where the explosion had gone off. In the middle of the floor, Emily saw the dark skeletons of three spotlights erected to make documenting and sifting through the destroyed cubicles easier.

The stairwell door to the third floor opened back into the stairwell, which wasn't ideal, but Emily wedged herself into the corner of the stairwell, slowly made enough space in the doorframe to wiggle through, then slipped through as she had the service door downstairs. Her hand caught the handle and pulled it gently closed behind her. In the glow of the emergency sign, Emily noted that the littered shell casings that had been there on Friday when she and Katie visited were gone, as was the shattered glass.

_Thank __God __for __that_, Emily thought. She began to crouch-walk around the perimeter of the cubicle farm, heading past the small office where the tech maniacally fired his pistol into the pizza boxes, and crept to her objective on the far side of the floor. The third floor was comfortingly silent, which Emily took to mean the guard patrolling the building was somewhere—behind her the same stairwell door she had used minutes earlier opened with a faint creaking, then slammed shut.

Startled by the noise, Emily whirled around and saw over the cubicle walls resting at all angles between her and the door a dark shadow blocking part of the illumination of the 'EXIT' sign. The shadow started to move out of the light of the door sign, and Emily didn't hesitate as she nimbly stepped over an overturned shelf and tried to find a place to hide in the cubicles. To her right, the patrolman started whistling absent-mindedly. Emily gritted her teeth and dropped to her hands and knees, grabbing the torch from her hip and holding it against the ground with her right hand.

As she skittered under the middle of a desk standing at an angle, one end propped up on the end of another desk, the guard turned the corner and the cone of light from his torch arced across the floor where Emily had been crouching moments before. Emily scrambled sideways so that she was hidden behind both the angled desk and the one flat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. She leaned her head forward and tilted it so that she could see the floor under the desk where she had just crawled to hiding.

Light tentatively spread from the other side of the desk as the guard approached. Emily found herself biting her tongue inside her mouth and willed herself to stop before she started bleeding. She took shallow breaths in and out of her nose, eyeing the edge of light as it crept further under the desk. The light stopped moving and Emily guessed he was standing still. Moments later, the light swung wildly away, then up towards the ceiling, and finally away from her hiding place entirely. Emily frowned. _What __the __fuck__?_

In the smothering darkness, Emily heard the sound of a lighter being ignited and rolled her eyes. Of all the places to light a fag, it _had_ to be a few feet from where she was hiding. Once the guard was pleased with his efforts, however, Emily noticed the torch light swing back towards the break room and begin moving away from the desks behind which she crouched nervously. Emily glanced left and saw the light turn and start heading towards the corner taped off due to the explosion. The guard shone it left and right, then turned around and began heading back around towards the stairwell.

As soon as the stairwell door had clapped closed, Emily crawled back out from her hiding spot drawing deep breaths of relief. _He__'__s __probably __headed __back __downstairs __from __using __that __spotlight __on __the __roof__,_ Emily reasoned as she walked over to the break room and pushed open the smoked glass door. Closing it carefully, Emily stepped lightly over to where the vending machines lined half of the wall to her right, all of them humming softly to keep their contents cool. She dropped down to her stomach and wriggled so she could flick on her torch and peer underneath the vending machines. The artificial light blinded Emily momentarily, causing her to squint and look away while muttering a stream of curses under her breath.

The spots slowly faded away and Emily turned back to peek where Yancey claimed to have hidden some of the financial records through which the techs had been looking. There was nothing under the machine closest to the fogged glass separating the break room from the rest of the floor.

Slithering forward, Emily moved to the second one. Laying one cheek on the carpet, she aimed the light and checked again. Nothing. Emily bit her lip. Maybe they'd been found already. Maybe someone had already come through and cleaned up. _You__'__re __the __only __one __who __seems __to __care __about __this __case other than that arsehole reporter__. __No __one __came __through __and __looked__. __Just __check __under __the __last __bloody __machine__._

Emily took a deep breath and crawled forward. A third time she turned so her left cheek was pressed uncomfortably to the floor. A third time she aimed the torch so the few centimeters below the machine were revealed by electric light.

Covered in a handful of clumps of dust, several papers were strewn below the vending machine. Letting out a sigh of relief, Emily grinned in the darkness of the break room. She placed the torch on the ground, and pushed sideways closer to the vending machine. Emily blindly slid a hand underneath it, placing the tips of her fingers on a sheet, and dragging it out into the open. Repeating the process three more times, Emily moved back and peered under the machine again. There was one last sheet pressed up to the wall, partially pulled upwards by the fan on the back of the machine, out of her reach.

Emily stood and tried to move the vending machine without success. Stepping back and trying to riddle out how to get the last sheet, Emily looked around the break room, which was cast in greys and deep blues around the edges of the torch light. She walked over to the cabinets and counter where a coffee maker sat unused and began opening the cabinets. Neither of the cabinets above the counter had anything of use in them, but the one in the back corner seemed promising.

Along the back of the cabinet was a power strip with several large plugs inserted into it. From where she was squatting in front of the cabinet, Emily craned her neck to follow the cable of the coffee maker on the counter, but it ran to an outlet higher on the wall. Frowning, Emily grabbed the torch from where it was resting on the ground and thrust it into the cabinet. One cable ran from its plug to the left, then along the wall; Emily could see it ran to a freestanding all-in-one in the corner over her shoulder. The other three ran through a hole drilled into the right side of the cabinet.

Emily put the torch down again, this time so that the bulky plugs cast ugly shadows on the back wall of the cabinet. Reaching inside, Emily wiggled one plug out of its socket, then a second, then the third, leaving only the all-in-one plugged in. The break room suddenly became silent as the whirring of the vending machines faded away. Grabbing the torch triumphantly, Emily dropped back down to her stomach and crawled the meter or so back to the vending machine. The paper lay well within reach, released from the suction of the fan on the back side.

Emily grabbed the four sheets of paper and hastily brushed them off. She folded them into quarters and slid them into her back pocket. Flicking off her torch, Emily stood, hooked it to her belt, and turned towards the door.

"Now, let's see what's hiding upstairs," she whispered aloud.

* * *

Emily pushed open the stairwell door with her left hand, holding it open as she listened for the sounds of the guard, both on the fourth floor beyond the door and further down the staircase. Hearing neither, she slipped through the gap in the doorway and closed the door behind her. There were no lights, emergency or otherwise, lighting the records room, and the faint light of the posts in the lot outside did not seem to make it far through the tinted glass on the outer wall of the floor.

Emily flicked on her torch and made a long sweeping pass across the floor, taking stock of her surroundings. Ceiling to floor shelving ran in narrow rows all the way to the far wall, or at least Emily assumed they did; her small beam of light didn't reach that far. On each level of the shelves, boxes were stacked two high. _No __wonder __they __were __holding __them __for __so __long__. __It __would __take __ages __to __go __through __all __these__...__unless __you __knew __exactly __what __you __were __looking __for__._

Emily slowly walked down a row, noting that small placards on each shelve denoted the department and period of years covered by the boxes. This aisle seemed to be 'Personnel March 2010-October 2014.' Curious, Emily crouched and tugged one of the boxes out and onto the cool tile floor, then shivered involuntarily.

Fans and air conditioning units whirred loudly overhead; Emily guessed they kept the floor cool to preserve the documents, but it would make hearing the patrolling guard that much more difficult. Not to mention make it uncomfortably cool in the thin black shirt and pants she was wearing to make it easier (and quieter) to move around the building.

As she crouched, Emily looked around to find something she could use as an alarm. Maybe ten meters down the aisle a pole with a large hook on the end was propped up against the shelving. Emily stood and walked over to it. It was nearly her height, and the guard certainly wouldn't expect it to be leaned against an aisle so the bottom rested just inside the arc of the door: the ensuing rattle and cursing Emily figured would come with knocking the pole over would be enough of a warning.

Having deposited the pole exactly where she wanted it, Emily returned to the box she had pulled off the shelves. Lifting the top off and setting it on the tile next to her, Emily sat down and began to rifle through the tabbed folders inside. Frowning, she picked up the cover of the box. 'Internship Profiles' was stenciled across the brown box top. _That __explains __why __each __tab __has __a __different __semester __written __on __it_, Emily noted.

She lifted a random folder out, pulled back the manilla cover—and promptly dropped the folder onto the open box. Emily covered her mouth, realizing she had audibly gasped and sat perfectly still, expecting the guard to appear at any second. When he didn't, she took a handful of deep breaths and picked up the folder again, staring down in the torch light at a younger version of the man who had made an impromptu visit to her station the previous Friday. Even back in university, Tony Stonem had the glint in his eye that made you desperate to know exactly what riddle he was working out without telling you.

Emily started to flip through the thin file, but as she turned over the cover sheet with Stonem's picture and name on it the tell-tale crash of the pole pierced the quiet of the records room. She hastily closed it and placed it on top of all the other folders in the box, pushing the box back onto the bottom shelf with a soft grunt. Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, Emily crouched and scurried towards the end of the aisle.

As Emily reached the end of the aisle, she stood and side-stepped to the right, allowing the aisle to hide her slight frame, extinguishing her torch as she did so. Peeking back where she had ran from, Emily closed her eyes and mentally kicked herself for being careless: in the dark, it was obvious the outline of the records box cover lay off-kilter from where she had haphazardly replaced it and pushed it onto the shelf. A quick debate about whether to go back and adjust it was settled by the appearance of a cone of light at the end of the aisle—the guard was checking each aisle as he headed around the floor on his patrols.

Once again trying to slow her heartbeat by breathing deeply, Emily felt her eyes widening in proportion to the circle of light expanding on the back wall just to her left. As the light was swinging down off the wall, Emily ran down the back aisle, desperate to put some space between her and the guard. To her right, the rows of records stretched back toward where she had come up the stairwell. On her left, the wall seemed to be built with the blade storage units for SSI's computer system set into it to minimize their effect on the floor space _Where __can __I __hide__? __I _cannot _believe __I__'__m __here __right __now__._ _There__'__s __got __to __be_—

Emily tripped and felt herself tumbling towards the tiled floor. Her knee struck the tile, sending electric currents of pain up her leg as her body skidded towards one of the computer storage towers. Emily grimaced against the pain already felt and the anticipated pain of sliding into the bolted down blade unit, turning her head away and hoping to catch on her shoulder instead of the crown of her head.

The anticipated pain was nowhere near as intense as Emily expected it to be. The blade unit gave way as she slid into it out of control, moving along the wall a half meter revealing a small gap in the wall. Coming to a halt half in the hole, her legs sticking awkwardly into the aisle, Emily craned to look back down towards the row of records she had just fled from; as she expected, the torch light cone was once again growing bigger on the back wall, and this time it was expanding much more rapidly as the guard ran towards the sound of her accident. Emily clenched her teeth together and pulled her knees to her chest, then grabbed the edge of the fake blade unit she had displaced. Emily tried to pull it closed, but found she had little leverage lying awkwardly in the fetal position on the floor. Coming up onto a knee, Emily fought through the pain exploding behind her right one and pulled the unit closed.

Instantly, her world became pitch dark and oppressively humid. There were no lights at all behind what had to be a partially fake wall. Emily collapsed back into a heap, biting down on her forearm to ward off a yelp of pain. Lying in the complete dark, she let the urge to scream subside, then slowly pushed her way backwards from the concealed opening, her right leg straight out in front of her. After a few meters, she stopped and, wincing once more, rocked back and forth while cradling her right knee. _Fuck__! __That __hurts__. __Couldn__'__t __you __be __a __bit __more __coordinated__, __Ems__?_

To her right, Emily heard footsteps hammer past her as the guard ran towards where he had heard her crash down to the floor. They slowed and Emily held her breath that he wouldn't realize one of the blade units was fake. After a couple minutes—or hours, Emily wasn't sure of how quickly or slowly time passed in the complete darkness of her hiding place—she felt like it was safe to hazard some torch light.

Emily flicked hers on, aiming it straight down at the floor to minimize its blinding effect in the dark. Shielding it with her left hand, she brought it up slowly, casting the light back towards the entrance to this hidden space, then from right to left.

The space stretched a few meters past the hidden opening and turned where the corner of the building had to be. The left-hand side of the space was the outside floor-to-ceiling windows, completely painted with black paint on the inside. She could barely see out of it in places where the paint hadn't been applied in even coats, but Emily was confident that there was no way to see back in from the outside. Supports and two-by-fours made a skeletal support structure for the fake wall; twisting as best she could, Emily shone the light behind her noting it ran half the width of the building.

But it was what lay scattered on the floor behind her that caught her eye more than the size of the construction project in which she found herself hiding. Using a nearby slat, Emily pulled herself up to an assisted standing position, leaning most of her weight on her left leg and the wall. She limped forward slowly, testing out the knee; the stinger would go away eventually, but fuck, it hurt now. The pain was the least of Emily's concerns, though, as she looked down on the strangest thing she had seen so far that night.

A sleeping pad, several trash bags, and a large unmarked wooden box sat abandoned on the ground where the hidden room ended. _No __wonder __the __techs __were __stalling __for __thirty __hours __plus__—__they __were __building __something __on __top __of __searching __through __the __records__. __Christ__, __how __many __of __them __were __there __then__?_ Emily tucked the torch under her chin and crouched to open the first bag. _The __fuck__?_ Emily grabbed the bag and turned it upside down, spilling its contents all over the sleeping pad. A shower of shredded paper and clothing landed at her feet. Emily shuffled forward through the pile and opened the second and third bags; they too were filled with the same mixture of shreddings and clothes.

Katie and Yancey's stories about being forced to change into tech outfits began to rang clearly in Emily's head; in the midst of the large banks of clothes now strewn in the narrow space, an expensive cardigan Emily recognized as one of Katie's most beloved pieces of clothing lay partially submerged beneath khaki slacks and dress shirts. _So __this __is __what __happened __to __all __their __clothes_.

Emily duck-walked over to the fourth bag, expecting it to be more of the same, but the acrid, sickly sweet smell of garbage greeted her as soon as she tugged open the drawstrings on it. Turning away and fighting the urge to vomit in the hot, cramped space, Emily buried her nose and mouth in the crook of her elbow before aiming the light into the trash. Food wrappers, wood shavings, plastic wrapping, dozens of small packing peanuts, multiple aluminum beverage cans, and other assorted pieces were jumbled together. Emily spied a toothbrush and a handful of other toiletries in the top layers of the pile, but it was a thin rubber tube snaking through the trash that piqued her interest.

Contorting her face in disgust, Emily reached out with thumb and index finger to pinch the tube, tugging it out of the pile. Bits of trash tumbled out of the bag with it onto the floor and edge of the sleeping pad; Emily ignored all of them as the ends of the tube finally came free with the rest of the apparatus attached. Dangling in front of her, lit in harsh relief by the torch was a hood suspended by the tube, a small pouch with some sort of liquid residue in it was connected to the other end. Emily placed the whole set-up on a patch of clear tile and pulled back the hood, revealing a small nozzle. The residue coated the nozzle as well, and as Emily looked closer, she noted it was bright red.

Visions of Brian Long's death that night replayed over and over in her mind. _He __hadn__'__t __died __at __all__!_ Emily wanted to scream aloud. So who had been "shot?" One of the hostages? One of the techs? Emily felt a tidal wave of questions begin to swell as she stepped over the trash bag and wedged herself in the corner of the hidden room. Looking down at the wooden crate, Emily frowned. A small padlock hung on the hinge between the lid and frame. _I __need __a __shim__..._

Emily looked down at the trash bag to her left, reaching for her knife at the same time. Again tucking the torch under her chin, she flicked open the knife and picked an aluminum can out of the pile. Placing it on the crate, Emily quickly cut the top and bottom off, then carefully cut the remaining aluminum piece into four small, crude shims. She returned the knife to her belt and tried the first shim. It fight begrudgingly into the padlock, but wouldn't jimmy the lock as she hoped. Not wanting to get a piece of the shim broken off in the lock, Emily pulled it out and discarded the shim.

The second one did break off partially, and Emily swore colorfully. Wiping her brow clear of the small sweat beads threatening to fall in her eyes, she picked up the third shim and carefully worked it into the side of the lock still accessible. Making minute back-and-forth motions, Emily heard the tell-tale _click_ of the lock disengaging and smiled. She tugged the lock down, then pulled it off the crate and opened the lid.

"Fucking hell," Emily muttered, raising the torch above her head to see down into the crate. An array of submachine guns and pistols were stored in gun racks in the crate, resting with slides back. Emily lifted one of the pistols out, weighing it in her palm; it certainly felt right for an unloaded nine millimeter, but if these weapons were like the machine guns the techs employed during the raid...

At one end of the crate were small unmarked red and blue case. Tucking the pistol into the small of her back, Emily withdrew a blue one, popped it open, and dumped a few cartridges onto the ground. She picked one up and brought the torch down to get better light for reading the small engraved writing around the primer. 'Blank' was clearly etched into the casing. After brushing the blanks to the side, Emily pulled a red case out and shook a couple cartridges onto the ground; 'Live 9MM' ran in a ring around the primer.

Emily drew the pistol from her back and ejected the empty magazine. With a practiced hand, she loaded sixteen blanks in, firmly seated the magazine in the pistol, and brought the slide forward to chamber a round. Checking that the safety was still on, Emily placed the gun back in the small of her back and closed the crate. She stepped over the trash and the clothes, walking back past the concealed entrance and exploring the rest of the space. _How __long __had __someone __stayed __here__?_

As she rounded the corner, the answer nearly smacked her in the face. Emily stepped back abruptly and crouched down. A field of air fresheners hung from the ceiling above. Emily shone the torch forward: the room extended maybe two meters down the front side of the building where it ended on the far side of a shallow hole blast into the floor. A metal bowl rested on the ground next to the hole. Approaching hesitantly, Emily peered down into the hole and recoiled at the smell of shit wafting up from the plumbing that ran directly below it, not yet blocked by the fresheners. The metal bowl was filled with slowly evaporating soapy water; someone had clearly spent at least a day or more hiding in here after the raid.

Emily turned around and stopped, looking down at her feet. She mentally pictured where she stood in the building and realized that she was standing directly above the office on the second floor that had been destroyed by the explosion set off after Emily had used delivering food as an excuse to check on the hostages. _They __used __it __to __mask __building __this __hole__. __Shit__. _ Emily gave herself a wry smile in the dark. _Literally and figuratively._

Then it hit Emily: Why would someone need to hide up here until after the raid was over if all the hostages and techs came out wearing the same outfits and they had coerced Katie into adding fake profiles to the company database?

Chewing her lip in thought, she made her way back to the fake blade unit, extinguished the torch, and slid the unit to the left a couple centimeters. Straining to hear the sounds of the guard, Emily waited a couple minutes before expanding the opening. Five silent minutes later, Emily crept out of the hidden room and moved the blade unit back over the opening. If no one had found it yet, they wouldn't for the next couple hours.

Moving slowly back to the row of Personnel records, Emily felt a wave of relief wash over her when the spotlight appeared over the lot through the tinted glass ahead of her. So the guard was up on the roof. Estimating she had maybe four minutes, Emily stood and walked as quickly as her still-protesting knee would allow. The box still sat on the bottom shelf, its cover askew where Emily had left it; tripping must have distracted the guard from investigating it thoroughly. Withdrawing the Stonem file, Emily properly replaced the cover and stored the box in line with the others on the shelving.

Holding the file in her left hand and the torch in her right, Emily headed back to the stairwell. Keeping to the outside wall, she limped downstairs, grimacing each time she had to place weight on her right foot. _Why __the __fuck __did __you __have __to __park __so __far __away__?_ A cautious voice in her head that sounded awfully like Naomi retorted, _Focus __on __getting __out __of __the __building __first__, __Em__._

At the top of the stairwell, footsteps began to echo thunderously as the guard returned from the roof. Emily paused on the second floor landing and looked up instinctively. If he followed the same routine, he would stop on the third floor at the least on his way down. With renewed confidence, Emily slipped down the last two flights of stairs until she was crouched peering out the inset window at the lobby on the first floor. Far above, a door boomed shut, which Emily took as her cue to break for it.

Opening the door quickly, Emily's breath caught in her throat when she saw two guards sitting under the stark lighting in the lobby playing cards and chatting, one with his back to her and the other with his head down, intent on the cards in his hand. Shaking his head, he leaned forward and began to draw a card off the deck resting between them.

The stairwell door nudged Emily in the hip as it closed and she reached her right hand back to catch it, sliding to the left out of sight just as the guard sat back up from drawing the card. Back pressed to the wall across the hall from the door, Emily paused and brought her breathing under control. Around the corner, the guard's eyes were fixated on the stairwell door that had softly clicked shut as Emily darted out of sight. His partner continued talking, but stopped mid-sentence when he realized the other was staring down the hall.

"What the fuck? Are you going to play or what?" Emily heard the voice of one cut sharply through the silence. "You think you saw something again?"

"What? No, must be tired l guess. You have any fags left?"

"Buy your own fucking pack! And quit freaking out—it's just us and Gus. Now, are we playing or not?" Emily was already heading to the back entrance, the voices fading away behind her. Reaching the door she had entered through, Emily fished for the key card while looking down at the cover sheet of the folder cradled in the crook of her left arm. Young Tony Stonem smiled back at her in the red glow of the 'EXIT' sign.

"You and I are going to have a little chat, Mr. Stonem," whispered Emily as she withdrew the card and pressed it to the reader. Out of nowhere, an answer popped into her head and Emily stared back down at the folder. Her mind flashed back to the previous Friday, sitting stunned at the kitchen table as Naomi walked in from work, a mask and sunglasses carefully laid out. _You hide for days instead of going out with the rest if someone can identify you...someone like Katie Fitch_

The green lights winked on and Emily slipped out the door and back into the early morning darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

After holding it open slightly with her foot as she placed her evidence down, Emily pushed against the door knob as the front door swung shut, slowing its closure and ensuring no slam would wake Katie from her temporary bed in the den. The entry hall descended back into pitch darkness as the weak grey light of early morning was cut off. Outside on the sidewalk, the remnants of her moped were heaped next to the trash awaiting the morning collection; Emily had held onto the small license plate, however, as a keepsake. It was resting at the far end of the runner to her right.

With the door closed, Emily turned her attention to the silent alarm, pulling down the cover and hastily pressing the five digit code on the red backlit buttons. With the alarm disabled, Emily stood stock still for several moments, just inside the doorframe, listening for any sign that Katie had heard her come inside. Hearing none, she clenched Katie's keys in one hand and picked up the pile of evidence she had accumulated at SSI: the financial records Yancey had slid under the vending machines, Tony Stonem's internship file, and the gun loaded with blanks. Emily took two steps towards the stairs. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand up; the feeling of being watched wrapped itself around her slight build like a thick blanket.

"You're out late," a voice whispered from the top of the stairs.

Without taking her eyes off the staircase, Emily deposited the pile of evidence back on the runner and took silent steps across the wooden floor to the foot of the stairs. Naomi stood on the landing above, a shadow cut by their bedroom lights, her features impossible to distinguish.

"I didn't think you would be back until the morning," Emily called back defensively, though she knew that didn't nearly justify coming back through the front door at half four. It was fundamentally true, though: Naomi had told her Wednesday morning as they lay on her pull-out in the London flat that she had a few last things to take care of, like moving out of her Parliament office and some luncheon, and she wouldn't be back until Friday morning at the earliest. Apparently Naomi defined 'Friday morning' as any time after midnight on Thursday night.

"So you always sneak out when I'm in London? Where were you? How the hell did you get there if your moped is sitting in a hundred pieces outside? And speaking of which, what the fuck?" Naomi's voice began as a hiss in the night, slithering down the stairs accusingly and twisting itself around Emily, causing her to flush with embarrassment and indignation. By the end of her rush of questions, though, the hiss had become a desperate shout. Hidden in the darkness, Naomi's eyes flickered to the pile of materials Emily had brought inside with her. At once, the shout was strangled and Naomi hoarsely added a final: "Is that...a gun?"

Emily backpedaled towards the front door, despite Naomi remaining still on the upstairs landing. Searching for some way to defend her actions, to justify sneaking back into her own home in the longest hours of the night, Emily crossed her arms across her chest and tried to speak coherently.

"I...eh...Look it's not what..."

"And what exactly do you think it looks like, Em?"

"Not good, obviously," stated Emily sarcastically.

"That's putting it mildly, don't you think?" interjected Katie as she appeared at the end of the hall dressed in soft pyjama pants and a camisole, turning on the den light. Emily closed her eyes and tried not to curse aloud. _What __impeccable __fucking __timing__, __sis__._

Naomi, however, could not keep up her self-control quite as well as her girlfriend and responded with a scathing, "Oh I almost forgot to ask: What the fuck is your sister doing in our house?"

Emily's mouth opened and closed, fish-like, but no words came out. The whole plan to sneak out to SSI and then back before dawn had worked perfectly, right up to the part about getting back inside her own flat. And that was supposed to be the easy part! Naomi being home early was something she could manage, independently, but having to address it simultaneous to explaining to Katie why she had broken into her offices _and_ explaining to Naomi why Katie was sleeping on their pull-out...Emily found herself seriously wishing that she was back stalking the halls of Strategic Security Initiatives, heart beating out of control at the prospect of a guard discovering her presence.

In the cubicles of SSI, she could seek refuge. In her own flat, there was nowhere to hide.

As Emily struggled silently to come to grips with the situation, Katie came towards her, barking upstairs at Naomi, who was still shrouded in the backlighting of the bedroom. "Oh I'm sorry, did my sister not mention me? We took the same train back from London day before last and I asked if I could stay with her, which she was happy to accommodate without your knowledge. 'Course, that was before she went sneaking out in the middle of the night—" Katie turned back to her sister and leaned in closer, disparagement written across her features, "—leaving me all by my-fucking-self. Could you be any more selfish?".

Emily swallowed, then uncrossed her arms and pulled her shoulders back, meeting Katie's furious gaze. "My well-being is the last thing on my mind. You know that. Everything I've done for the last two weeks has been to protect you. You, Katie!" Emily extended her left hand up the stairs. "And her, but you're my sister and I thought I lost you last week, more than once. I think you know damn well where I was tonight, especially since you can see what I brought back." Emily nodded at the pile over her shoulder.

"You haven't been completely honest with me, Katie. I don't know why. But I'm trying to find out who attacked you, and I wish you would understand that."

"I'm fine, kay? See? I'm standing here, aren't I? I'm not dead, Emily. It's not your job anymore to riddle this out. Just leave it alone."

"It is too my job! And you're not fine. You haven't been able to sleep. You've been drinking. You disappeared to London for three days. Maybe more, I don't know." Emily frowned as a shadow passed over Katie's face. "And something else happened too, something you haven't told me about yet."

"Nice try. You can try and turn it back on me all you like, but I know my case isn't yours anymore."

"What's she talking about, Emily?" Naomi had moved a couple steps down the stairs, half in the light, half in the second floor darkness, and her calmed voice easily pierced the tempest of anger that had enveloped the twins.

Katie barked a short, surprised laugh. Emily winced as if it had physically stung her, then looked up the stairs apologetically. "I got removed from the case, officially. Harlan and Underwood are in charge now. Unofficially, I'm not giving up."

"Unofficially?" repeated an astounded Katie. "Breaking into a crime scene isn't exactly 'unofficial,' Ems. It's more like illegal." Katie's eyes grew wide as she looked over her sister's shoulder and took stock of the evidence Emily had returned with; she whirled and flashed a sickly sweet smile up the stairs. "For your information, babes, yes that would be a gun."

"Emily, please tell me you can explain all this."

"I—I'm not sure about all of it. There's still more questions to be answered, but—"

"There's always more questions! Fuck, can't you learn to just drop things? How _did_ you get...oh, fuck, no you did not!"

Emily followed Katie's gaze down her arm to the key fob poking out of her clenched fist, then turned back to her twin, hating that being on the defensive was pushing her closer and closer to pleading. She had tried so hard to be there for Katie and get answers for the both of them, to bring to justice the people who had held her sister hostage. And now, in the matter of minutes, Emily could feel the progress she had made slipping away from her with every accusatory look from Katie and every whispered word from Naomi upstairs.

"Katie, I'm sorry, but I didn't have a choice."

"You had the choice to not go in the first place, which would have meant you wouldn't have taken my car. Or you could have just asked me. And I would have said no."

"I had to go back..."

"You had to?! You're obsessed! Emily, there's doing your job, and then there's letting personal feelings about something drive you insane. You crossed that line ages ago."

Emily felt her eyes turn hot and her lower lip quiver. Pressing her lips together and trying to swallow against the lump gathering in her throat, she stared past Katie and up the stairs. Naomi was standing there still in the half-dark, watching Katie berate Emily while remaining completely silent.

"Do you think I'm being insane? Naomi?" Emily reached out and finally turned on the hall light. Katie had her head cocked slightly and was raising her eyebrows, eyes locked on Emily while waiting for the reluctant agreement she just knew Naomi would provide. Naomi remained a statue on the stairs, only her rapid blinking indicating that she was in fact alive and thinking.

"You have been acting a bit...irrationally, Emily," Naomi finally said while holding an emotionless expression.

"There, see!"

"But I think you should be more appreciative, Katie."

"Ever the politician," sneered Katie as she directed her molten-malice gaze at the blonde. "I don't see how Emily can stay with someone who can't hold a conviction about the smallest truth."

"Fuck! Off!" Emily was shaking with rage as her twin turned back to her, shocked at the outburst. The shock barely lasted a moment before Katie masked it with another fake smile.

"I'll make it perfectly clear for you, Ems, because I'm sick of what this case has turned you into: either you drop it, completely, or I'm gone for good. Right now."

"Katie, don't," Emily heard her voice crack as if it was someone else talking. The first tears began pooling along her eyelids, forcing her to blink tightly so that Katie materialized back into a person rather than a cream-and-red blob.

"What? Now that I'm threatening to walk out, you want to apologize? Little late for that."

"Just a couple days ago you said you wanted to stay with me because being alone scared you. Now you want to leave?"

"A couple days ago you weren't sneaking out of your own house at midnight and breaking into crime scenes! Now, stop bullshitting, Emily, and tell me what it's going to be."

Emily felt like she was on fire—Katie's scorching stare transfixed on her brown eyes, the tears blazing twin trails down her cheeks, her mouth and throat desert-gritty and dry. Katie couldn't be serious. She had made threats like this before, but rarely did she follow through on them. _Why __can__'__t __she __see __that __I __just __want __to __help __her __as __much __as __I __can__? __Is __it __a __crime __to __love __your __sister __that __much__?_

Realizing that she wouldn't rise to the ultimatum, Katie swallowed a shriek of frustration and stormed past Emily, her steps echoing in the hallway. She snatched the keys out of her twin's hand on the way past. Opening the flat to the mist of rain being swept in from outside, she took the steps down without a look back into her sister's flat.

The heavy _splish__-__splash_ of raindrops on the front steps, and droplets falling from the eaves above, faded as Katie tugged the door shut behind her to a dull static in the background. Emily sniffled, pressed the palm of her hand to her eyes, blotting tears, and turned to find Naomi still standing icily halfway up the stairs. Emily shook her head while shrugging helplessly.

"You could have at least told me you were going to do that tonight," said Naomi softly as Emily shuffled over to the pile of evidence and tools she had placed on the runner.

"Come down here if you've got something to say, for fuck's sake!"

"Alright. Suit yourself." Naomi crossed her arms and descended the stairs at a deliberately slow pace as Emily gathered her things in her arms and turned back to face her girlfriend. Naomi sat down on the penultimate stair from the floor, her feet resting on the bottom step, hands clasped together between her knees. "So why'd you go back to SSI without telling me?

"You really wanted me to tell you I had been removed from the most important case of my career and that my solution was to sneak into the crime scene in the middle of the night to collect evidence? You're joking, right?"

"Why would I be joking, Ems? How can I protect you if I don't know what danger you're going to be in?"

"Protect me?" repeated Emily incredulously. "You've never seen a need to protect me before; why all of a sudden? I'm just doing my job."

Naomi stared at her hands, her eyes flashing with inner turmoil between the part of her that wanted to open up, to release all her concerns about Emily at once, and the part that insisted she hold her cards close to her breast. The look Ross had in his eyes as he held the picture of Emily and not-so-circumspectly threatened her loomed large in Naomi's mind; on the other hand, Emily's current fragility seemed so weakly held together that Naomi did not want to shatter her.

"I just don't want you to be hurt unnecessarily, okay? It scared me that I couldn't help you last week when I was stuck in London, but it's infinitely worse when you're taking risks when I'm here. I mean, you brought home a gun, for Christ's sake; you've never brought your gun home before!"

"It's not mine, Naomi. It's a long story and right now I just want to sleep some before I have to be at the station. So, can I just..." Emily trailed off as she looked desperately at Naomi.

"No, you can't just...I want you to admit that what you did tonight wasn't the safest—or smartest—way to get the answers you needed. You still haven't answered any of my questions, Emily."

"What do you want me to say? Yes, I went to SSI tonight, alright? And yes, it was dangerous, and no, I didn't tell you because a) I didn't want you to worry about me if you weren't back, and b) I didn't want to put you in a bad spot having to deny that you knew what happened when someone finds out. I...I should have known better than to think I could hide anything from you, Naoms." Emily paused in the middle of her half-apology as the phone conversation with Tony from the previous day flashed through her mind in unison with the guilt for trying to hide things from Naomi. She looked down and acted like her fingernails were the most interesting thing in the world. "But that goes both ways, yeah?"

Naomi frowned and leaned back, placing her elbows on the runner in the middle of the wooden stairs. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who's Osbourn Ross?" Emily looked up slowly, gauging Naomi's reaction to the name.

"What're you on about?" Despite her efforts to seem unaffected by the name—a blank stare and flippant raise of one eyebrow constituted her facial expression after a slight pause—Naomi could not stop her voice from beginning to sharpen as it had when first confronting Emily about sneaking into their house.

"Don't play dumb, Naomi. How well do you know him?"

"I don't! I mean, not personally not really. Rather, I don't know anything personal about him, if that's what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything," retorted Emily. She pointed at the stack of evidence on the runner. "He's SSI. Have you ever worked with him?"

"No! I've never taken a dime from them, and you know I'm not a war hawk, Emily. Before lunch on Monday, I'd never even met him in person." Naomi narrowed her gaze. "Why the questions about him all of a sudden?"

Emily chewed her lip, wondering how far to push things. Tony's hint that Naomi was leaning towards being on the take was a prospect she couldn't fathom; her girlfriend had run the cleanest campaigns and career Emily could imagine. Her first reaction had been that Tony was lying—how could he have any proof if he'd never truly met Naomi...

"When did you say you met this Ross?"

"Monday at lunch, ok? He wanted to talk about how I would represent SSI and Bristol after what had happened. Why the sudden interest, Emily?"

Emily felt like she was being dragged out of her own body down a long black tunnel, echoes of previous conversations with Naomi and Tony twisting around her as her initial indignation that Tony would have the gall to make a bold-faced lie to her slowly crumbled. If he had been at lunch with them on Monday, maybe he did know something about Naomi that Emily did not. Maybe she had been so shaken by what had happened that getting close to SSI was the only way she thought she could make it up to them. Maybe all this talk about 'Good People' was a farce Ross wanted her to use to deflect suspicion or ignore what had happened so SSI could continue to operate as usual. Maybe...

"Fucking hell, Emily! Hello?"

Emily snapped back to the present. Naomi was leaning forward, still seated on the stairs. "I want you to answer only in a yes or a no, ok? Has Ross offered you money for the campaign in exchange for anything?"

"What the fuck! Emily, after all this time—"

"Just answer the question!" Not for the first time since returning back to their flat, Emily felt her voice cracking.

Naomi slowly shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "When have I ever accepted a bribe, Emily?"

"Answer the question."

"Can you just drop it, Em? Just drop everything! SSI, Ross, everything. Let Harlan and Underwood work at it and move on. _We_ can move on."

"You're changing the subject. Be honest with me, Naomi, just tell me if he has. Yes, or no."

"Let it go, please," Naomi begged, Emily couldn't know what Ross had threatened. How she even suspected they had talked was beyond Naomi, but Emily knowing anything about his visit to her offices at Parliament was out of the question. If Emily knew he had offered to fund every campaign until perpetuity, she would demand Naomi report it. And Naomi knew that if Emily insisted on it, she would do it. Partly because it was the right thing to do, but mostly because it was Emily asking her to make the stand.

Nevertheless, Naomi knew that she couldn't tell her straight away because that would mean telling Emily about the second half of his offer. It would mean telling Emily that she wasn't safe so long as she did her job and kept looking into SSI. If the mangled remains of her moped on the sidewalk were any indication, Ross was deadly serious about his threat. Naomi harbored no naïve ideas that he would rescind that threat, or that it would be disregarded if Naomi came forward to report him. No, keeping the situation with Osbourn Ross to herself was the safest thing for both of them. Naomi could handle a stymied political career; she couldn't handle something happening to Emily.

"He did, didn't he?" asked Emily rhetorically. "That's what you meant about being able to protect me! He doesn't want anyone poking into their affairs, and he knows that the key to that is you. Just tell me you didn't take it." Emily took two steps and placed her hand on the banister, standing just to Naomi's left. Her blonde girlfriend sat silently, eyes fixated on the wooden floor.

"Emily, I think Katie may have been right about letting this go. Just trust me on this, ok?"

"Naomi, answer the question. For the last time, yes or no. Has Ross tried to pay you off? You can tell me. I love you."

Naomi's eyes snapped up from the floor, her look raw with acrimony and panic. "Don't you do that to me, Emily. Don't."

"Why not? If you can't tell me about this, it just goes to show where your priorities are, no matter what promises you try to make about us. You know you can't lose me, but you can always lose your seat. You can't keep putting your career before us!"

"That's not what this is about at all!" Naomi stood finally, whirling and looking down at Emily. "I want you to be safe. Just trust me when I say the best way to do that is to forget all about SSI."

"How can I trust you on that if you won't answer a simple yes or no question?" Emily extended her hand towards the pile of papers and the blank-loaded gun on the runner. "There's something there and Ross doesn't want anyone to know about it, so he's going to fund you to keep you quiet. That's right, isn't it?"

"Emily, please. Let it go."

Emily shook her head, the not-yet dry streaks of tears from Katie walking out running down her cheeks once again. _Tony__. __This __is __all __Tony__'__s __fault_. But as much as Emily wanted a scapegoat, the rational part of her brain argued that all he had done was pass on information he had overhead. It was Naomi who—in Emily's estimation—was providing an affirmation of her suspicions by avoiding a definite answer. But maybe there was a way to meet in the middle, a way to compromise. Emily weighed her options quickly: It was worth a shot, and certainly better than being distrustful of one another for the next three weeks.

"If I stop investigating SSI, I want you to suspend your campaign. A trade. You get to keep me safe and you don't have to take whatever he's offering."

"It's not that simple, Emily. If I put it on hold, I might lose my seat."

"If I stop investigating why my own sister was held hostage, there will be kidnappers...no, terrorists at large on our streets!"

"Don't be dramatic."

"Dramatic!" scoffed Emily. She couldn't help the disdain that flushed her cheeks with heat and flowed off her tongue. "I'm offering to step back from the largest case of my career—and if I do it, you should have to make an equal sacrifice. How many times since we've been together have I had to sacrifice to make a rally or plan an event or help you write a speech? I'm just asking for you to match it, just this once, Naoms. Please."

"This isn't about keeping score."

"No, you're right. It's about _us__,_ Naomi, and how a few days ago you promised that you would marry me. But you won't be forthright about Osbourn Ross, and now that I'm asking you to make a professional sacrifice, you're balking."

"I can't just stop," whispered Naomi. "Could you, Ems? Could you with all the work you've already put in?" She nodded towards the evidence by the door.

Emily nodded desperately. "I could if you stopped. I can't be the only one prioritizing us over a job." Emily felt herself going hoarse as grief and resignation tightened in her throat with every word. "You know what, forget it. Don't follow me."

Naomi closed her eyes in defeat as Emily swung around the end of the banister to go upstairs. The soft, rasping sobs left in her wake lingered in the air, each one feeling like a dart that had hit its mark in the center of Naomi's chest. Emily could never find out what Ross had proposed, and if for the time it meant she hated Naomi because of it..._We__'__ll __make __it __through__, __Ems__. __We __always __have __before__._

She wiped the back of her hand under her nose, still rooted to the spot in the foyer. Without looking, Naomi reached out and flicked off the light, leaving her alone in the dark.

* * *

Katie parked the car on the street right in front of her flat and let it idle; her right hand holding the steering wheel in a vice-grip, her left trying to crush the shifter. The drive back had been punctuated by road rage at the three other cars Katie had seen on the road in the pre-dawn morning. Then, just before turning onto her own street, the realization that she had left her bag of things at Emily's finally hit her and the rage at Emily's stubborn refusal to stop snooping around manifested itself in a yell that drowned out the pop music on the radio.

Okay, so yes, Emily's job was to investigate what had happened, but Katie felt justified in calling her out for far surpassing the professional bounds of what that entailed. The fervor Emily had for her job was admirable, but seriously, when did she decide it was okay to sneak into controlled crime scenes in the middle of the night? Christ, she had been clad in all black like some sort of burglar, and the gun had been an eerie touch. Was Emily really planning on threatening anyone who got in her way?

Katie finally relinquished her hold on the shifter and turned the car off. She looked down to the center console, popping it open and withdrawing the small clutch she kept stored there with her license and some spare change. Still looking down as she unbuckled, Katie finally turned her head and looked out the rain-splattered windshield.

_Oh __Christ__._ Katie was unsurprised that her heartbeat quickened and her stomach felt like it had been wrung out like a wet towel. Coming down the walk towards her car, his hands buried in the pockets of his oversized windbreaker, was Bruno. As she was opening the door, Katie knew she would see Niko arriving from the other direction; a quick glance back to her left confirmed her suspicions.

"Good morning, boys. Let me guess, Tony misses me already."

"Good guess," replied Bruno with an apologetic smile. "He said you can bring some things if you like. We will wait."

_Sure __you __will__._ If Emily was losing it here in Bristol and didn't want to hear reason, maybe she could talk some sense into Mr. Stonem just outside London. Katie conjured up a fake smile. "That's well compassionate of him. Thanks." She headed up the steps and added to herself a soft, "Arrogant fucker."


	21. Chapter 21

Not for the first time in the last twenty minutes, Emily groaned and refused to lift her head from its place cradled in her hands when the phone just centimeters away started ringing. She knew that she should answer it, but her motivation to do anything productive had been reduced to nothing after her confrontation with Katie and Naomi a few hours earlier...a confrontation whose pain hadn't been dulled in the slightest by the two-and-a-half hours of sob-wracked, writhing sleep Emily had fit in before deciding it was just easier to get out of her flat. She left the all-black outfit from her excursion to SSI the previous night piled unceremoniously on the floor of the closet. The evidence, including the completely broken down pistol and its magazine of blanks, was buried in her bag, propped up against her desk on the floor to her left.

The phone continued ringing, pounding into her head with all the subtlety of the woodpecker that had taken up residence in the trees behind her childhood home, jack-hammering away at her sanity. Emily blindly fumbled for the receiver with her right hand, lifting it slightly and slamming it back into the cradle. _I __don__'__t __want __to __talk __to __anyone __today__. __Maybe __I __can __tell __the __Chief __that __I__'__m __not __feeling __well __and __just __go __home__..._

Home. Emily grimaced into the darkness of her palms at the word. Home implied safety; suggested stability and warmth and people that would sacrifice everything for you. People that were loyal to the very end. Morosely, Emily wondered if any place would feel like home again. Katie seemed to never want to see her again, though that had been a common catch phrase of hers in the past and it always last until the next holiday season when she needed Emily's help in suffering through a week with their parents. Recently, that week had dwindled to a two-day wind sprint of patience from lunch on Christmas Eve to dinner on Boxing Day. This past December, Naomi had busy with preparing for session in London, which had left Emily to deal with her sister and mother by herself. Emily pressed her face into the desk even further remembering she had yet to properly talk to either of her parents since the events at SSI. _This __weekend__. __I__'__ll __call __this_—

The door banged open as Lewis arrived for work, one briefcase in the right hand he was using to twist the handle, and a second clasped awkwardly against his chest, one corner squeezed under his chin. He ambled over towards his desk, barely seeing where he was going from the angle at which his head was tilted. Displeased at her seclusion being interrupted, Emily looked up in time to see him catch his hip on the corner of the desk and stumble into the wall.

Setting down his briefcases, Lewis turned and finally noticed the beleaguered Emily, deep bags shadowing her eyes, hair pulled back in the messiest of buns, and faint hand prints outlined across her cheeks and forehead. He began to stammer an apology, but Emily waved him off. He managed an embarrassed smile and began to unpack his things, unclasping the briefcases and placing stacks of papers, notes, and binders in no discernible order on his desk. Emily slumped back in her chair, shoulders hunched forwards slightly as she watched Lewis out of the corner of her eye. She watched him unpack the second briefcase in the same manner, and began fiddling with the badge on her belt.

Emily sighed deeply. Sitting here unproductively wasn't working. Lewis was ignoring her and allowing her to wallow in her obvious misery—whether he was politely letting her deal with her demons or ignorant of her mood Emily couldn't tell, but at the moment she just wanted to be left alone. Nevertheless, that didn't mean she had to do nothing; with the exception of Lewis's surprisingly thorough research, Emily had moved forward on this case by herself thus far. Well, and Christopher Smith's moral support, she admitted as she withdrew the SSI key card from her pocket and dropped it on top of her tattered notepad. Even if the Chief didn't want her to, she could keep pushing herself to find the answers those upstairs no longer seemed interested in pursuing.

"Sorry, Emily?" Emily looked up: clearly Lewis's silence had been of the ignorant variety, not the understanding of her need for introspection kind. He was leaning forward around two tall stacks of papers, the light reflecting off his glasses making it impossible to see his eyes.

"What, Lewis? I'm sorry, but I feel like shit."

"Oh, yes, I can see that. It's just that on my way down, that guy from OSCT wanted to see you in your old office. It sounded rather urgent."

Emily gritted her teeth. Harlan was the maybe the third-to-last person in the station she wanted to see, behind the Chief and Underwood. The fact that he was working out of _her_ office just made his presence at the station worse. Neither of the national agency representatives seemed to care about the case or a just conclusion to it. Most of Emily—the pessimistic side, the side colored by her Chief's lack of confidence in her abilities, by Pete Morris's machinations to cast the blame for failing to successfully negotiate onto her, by Tony Stonem's maddening, intermittent non-contributions, by Katie's insistence on turning away her help at nearly every turn, by Katie's biting comments earlier in the morning, by Naomi's sudden turn from stalwart supporter to pleading protester (not to mention her less than flattering testimony about their contributions to her bill)—was convinced that Harlan and Underwood truly were just going through the motions and had no motivation to finish the investigation of the SSI hostage situation Emily had begun. But there was a small piece of her mind that clung to the hope Underwood and Harlan would finally display the diligence and professional interest warranted by a major case such as this one.

Emily leaned down to her right, holding her bag open with one hand and rifling through the papers and folders inside it. She withdrew the four sheets of financial records Yancey had stashed away under the vending machines and stood up. She tapped them on her desk to straighten them and looked over at Lewis. He was typing heavily on his laptop, hidden from Emily's sight by the stacks of papers; the sound of his work the only noise in the small office. Emily allowed herself a small smile. No matter how hard the Chief worked to downplay what had occurred the previous week, that was not deterring Lewis Adams from continuing to delve deep into the financial past of Strategic Security Initiatives.

"Thank, Lewis. I have something for you, actually. But, Lewis?"

"Yes?" The financial investigator pushed back from his desk until his chair clunked dully into the wall behind him. He looked at Emily eagerly, eyebrows raised in curiosity and a genuine smile growing on his face.

Emily furrowed her brow as she extended the papers out towards him, then hesitantly withdrew them. "You must promise me you won't ask how or where I got them."

"What? No, I won't. What are they?"

"Not sure, exactly. They're more up your alley." Emily handed Lewis the few sheets of paper she had recovered. Adjusting his glasses, he squinted hard at the small type.

Looking up sharply, he stuttered, "How...how did you?"

"Lewis, you promised not to ask."

He cleared his throat and nodded. "Right, right. Well, I'll cross-reference these with what I've already been studying and see if there's anything new I can find out, Detective. Thank you for the help!"

Emily smiled weakly. "Don't mention it." Emily paused for a moment to watch him pore over the pages, then blinked several times and strode out of the office.

* * *

"Ah, Detective Fitch! Please, sit. It feels strange welcoming you into your own office, so please, allow me." Harlan stood, waving Emily through the door with one hand, smoothing his tie down with the other. Uneasy, she took him up on his offer to sit down on the far side of the desk, slowly lowering herself into the chair he had just vacated. Seemingly at ease, Harlan quickly sat in the single guest's chair on the side of her desk closest to the door. Emily stared across her desk, still uncomfortable and completely blindsided by the welcome her OSCT counterpart had displayed thus far.

Harlan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Detective, I want to clarify something to start." He pursed his lips, swallowed, and looked sternly across at Emily. "I stand by what I said yesterday: the work you've put in on this investigation has been commendable. However, I do fully recognize the misgivings my colleagues have about your personal connections to the case and how they might color your judgement. If you'll indulge me?" He raised his palms and arched his eyebrows. Emily nodded mutely for him to continue.

"When I began working with the Office, it was on computer security. I had done some consulting work and developing cyber security for some major corporations after university, but wasn't particularly satisfied. I heard from a friend of mine that they needed cyber security experts for the Home Office." Harlan leaned back in the chair and began idly tapping the arm rest with his index finger as he continued his story. "So I decided to do a couple years of public service, clear my conscience from the profit-mongering, or whatever idealistic reason you want to ascribe. That's not really the point.

"Point is, it wasn't long until I had a case I was working on. Some major defense contractors and brokerage firms were coming under waves of relentless attacks by a cyber terrorist group. About five months after the first attack, they targeted a corporation I had worked with just before joining OSCT. I still had numerous friends there, including a handful that were under intense scrutiny because of the attacks. Even before we started pursuing leads, I guaranteed to my superiors that they were all innocent and were complete victims in the situation."

Harlan shook his head sadly and patted the armrest with his palm. "As you can guess, Detective, I was wrong. Two of them had taken bribes to lower the company's security measures at a specific time, helping the attacks to succeed. Now, I want to be very clear that the SSI case and the story I told you are not mirrors of one another, and I am not suggesting that your sister was in on the attack, but I learned the hard way that you can't take anything for granted in our line of work, and hopefully you do not forget that in the midst of the emotions you must be feeling about how your sister was treated."

Emily nodded and continued staring at a point on the floor past Harlan. The problem was, Katie _had_ been a part of their operation, albeit an unwilling part. Emily did not hold Katie responsible for her own failure to capture the techs during the raid, but if she was being truthful with herself, Katie's coerced additions to the company's personnel database had aided in their escape. It seemed disingenuous after just being warned against letting personal connections mar her professional duty, not to mention unfairly gracious after Katie's actions earlier in the morning, but Emily vowed not to tell Harlan what she knew of her twin's involvement beyond being held hostage. _Family __first__, __sis__, __even __if __you__'__d __rather __we __weren__'__t __right __now__._

Emily turned her gaze from the floor to look diplomatically at Harlan. "I understand all of your concerns, Harlan, and I think you should know that if there's anything clouding my judgment right now, it is not my personal connections, it's frustration at being ordered not to participate at all! And warranted or not, most of that frustration is directed at you and Underwood."

"I can see why." He gestured flippantly at the office from which Emily had been evicted. "And your frustration with Underwood—and your Chief if I may say so—is certainly warranted. As for me, while you've done some great work, I think the NCA and my Office are able to bring more assets to bear on the situation, which makes us better suited to continue this investigation." Harlan saw Emily's lip curl in protest and raised a single finger.

"Now, wait. That doesn't mean you shouldn't have a place. I spent most of yesterday afternoon following the meeting all four of us—you, the Chief, Underwood and I—had convincing the Chief you were an asset we couldn't afford to cast away so easily. Finally, he gave in and told me I could use you as an adviser. Don't immediately ruin your chance to continue your investigation in a hasty protest."

"What exactly do I do as your 'adviser?'" asked Emily skeptically.

"For starters, I need to know everything that happened from your perspective. The write-up you sent was thorough, but I have several questions about the later stages of the stand-off, especially concerning Brian Long and the raid. So that's where I'd like to start. Once I have a firm grasp on that," Harlan smiled conspiratorially. "Well, I was going to let you decide how much involvement 'advising' me will require. Fair enough?"

Emily looked down at the multiple pictures of her and Naomi arrayed on her desk, the Goa sunset picture prominently displayed in the center. Harlan was offering her a way back into the fold in exchange for the information she knew. Under normal circumstances, Emily would have immediately accepted; the revelations she had made the previous night complicated matters considerably. Besides, Naomi had begged her to stop. _She __couldn__'__t __give __you __a __good __reason __why__, __though__. _And _she __wouldn__'__t __hear __of __making __her __own __sacrifices__. __You __have __to __make __this __call __for __yourself__, __Em__._

Squinting slightly in an effort to recall that night at SSI, Emily looked past the pictures back to that seemingly magnetic spot on her office floor.

"Detective, you don't look that well. Would you ra—"

* * *

We had two phones in the command van out in the parking lot beyond the police cordon. One of them had served as my direct line to the techs inside SSI and the other was an outside line that only rang twice the entire night, both times from the same caller. It was some executive from SSI named...

"Yes, Detective? His name?"

Sorry, Osbourn Ross. I'm uh, just a bit tired; couldn't get to sleep last night. But anyway, yeah Osbourn Ross had called just before 10 pm to try to renegotiate the payments of the ransom, which the leader of the techs begrudgingly accepted. They paid a quarter of a million at 10 and released that press release. After that, the next big deadline was midnight. I had been trying to get some sleep in a car, but it was pretty much worthless, so I stepped back into the van at a quarter til midnight. There hadn't been any more calls, but I had a strange feeling something wasn't right. Then, five minutes prior to the second deadline, Ross called again. He insisted I negotiate for more time, but I flat-out refused, telling him that he had already put me in an impossible position by delaying once and I could not afford to do it again if it meant the terrorists would harm the hostages. I told him to just pay it, make the statements they asked for and release the records, or refuse entirely. Indecisiveness was more dangerous than picking a choice and living with the consequences.

He didn't take too kindly to that, I can tell you. He cursed me out and hung up. Sure enough, right on the stroke of midnight, the leader of the techs called the van. _Ten __minutes__, __Detective__. __That__'__s __the __window__, __just __like __last __time__. __Do __you __understand__?_ I said yes and tried to interrupt him, but he talked over me: _If __we __don__'__t __show __a __transfer __or __see __the __press __release__, __make __sure __you __watch __the __windows __on __the __front __side __of __the __building __at __quarter __after__._

I remember cursing and wanting to throw something and Officer Smith trying to calm me down, but it was futile. There was no way for me to calm down. In the command van, there were these digital clocks built-in above a couple monitors on one wall, their bright red numbers blinking ominously as I watched them count the seconds until SSI ran out of time. They struck ten after and the news stations showed no new 'Breaking News' bulletins. Neither phone rang. I stormed out of the van and began walking towards the cordon. Smith followed, yelling for me to stop, then running me down and bear-hugging me before I could march right up to the front doors and storm the building myself. I don't think I've ever been angrier at someone for saving my life, since I'm sure they would have killed me had I violated the stand-off zone. Not to mention set off another explosive somewhere.

So there we are, Smith holding me tightly while I demanded to be let go through gritted teeth, when the blinds fluttered partially open on one of the second floor offices on the left-hand side of the building. I stopped thrashing and remained completely still. I swear, I've never felt emotional swings like I did that night, Harlan. Every minute seemed to go the opposite direction of the one before it.

"All things considered, I think you handled it as well as can be expected, Detective. Please continue."

Thanks, I guess. Well, Officer Smith still had his wits about him and released me from the embrace, instead gripping my elbow and tugging me around the cordon back to the command van. Farther away, the entire media contingent started to surge over towards where the blinds were opening, trying to get a better view of what was happening. When we climbed in the back door, every monitor was displaying a zoomed-in view of that office, but our cameras couldn't quite get a direct shot. One of the police surveillance techs in the van told me they were repositioning one of the platforms with a sniper and telescoping video camera, but that was too little too late.

We could see that there were three people in the office. One was not much more than a dark figure in the back of the office; the second was standing in profile, looming over the third person with a pistol extended in his hand. The final person was kneeling on the ground, his hooded head bowed shamefully just a meter from the barrel of the gun. Out of the corner of my eye, I registered that it was twelve fifteen. The kneeling individual suddenly looked up—I think the tech in the back corner must have said something to him, and just as he was blindly searching for who had spoken, the tech standing over him pulled the trigger.

Unlike when the bomb went off earlier in the evening, I didn't scream this time. I didn't go storming out of the van again. This time, all I could do was stand rooted to the metal floor plating of the van as a cloud of red mist plumed in the middle of that spotlight-illuminated office and the kneeling man toppled forward into the carpet. On the video feeds, I watched the tech walk out of the shadows on the back wall and begin dragging the body towards the door feet-first. The gunman took a couple small steps towards the window, looked right out at the spotlight, and shut the blinds.

Nobody spoke for several minutes. Surveillance and Special Response guys alike peeled headsets off and sat dumbfounded. Smith was shaking in a seat at the narrow table wedged against the back wall. Behind him, the television monitors with the news feeds were replaying the event over and over in some sort of perverted violent pornography. Finally after five minutes, it was obvious the station was told to stop showing it because they cut to some hostage 'expert' in the studio.

There was no explanatory or threatening phone call. No communications from the techs. And honestly, there was no need. They had made their point and shown, not for the first time, that they were true to their word. The shock lingered until half one or so. Finally I whispered aloud how long Smith would need before they were ready to go with the raid. He raised a solitary finger and looked up at me apologetically: they could go in one hour if we got the go-ahead. Unfortunately, that meant we'd have to make it through another top-of-the-hour deadline.

"So how did you find out that the murdered hostage's name was Brian Long?"

Well, alleged name. According to Ronald Yancey—he was acting CIO last week and held hostage with my sister—Brian Long doesn't exist as an employee at SSI. He's a fabrication.

"And you have proof of this? What does your sister say?"

Haven't asked her yet...she's, uh, she's really shaken up by what happened as you can expect. It hasn't been easy on her.

"That's understandable. What happened after that? They did end up paying."

Correct. One o'clock came and went with no word from Ross or the techs. Then, at one ten, the line from inside SSI started ringing, and I knew it was the leader informing me another hour had passed without payment. But as I was answering it, the news channel suddenly broke back to a live feed of the SSI building and all the flashing police lights surrounding it. Seconds after that, the voice of the tech's leader scratched through the phone. _Well__, __well__. __It __seems __they __can __be __reasonable __after __all__. __And __just __in __time__. __The __money __is __coming __through__, __Detective__. __Congratulations__._

Somehow, I didn't feel like celebrating anything. I told him so, which made him chuckle. The banner on the news was reading "SSI AGREES TO PAY, RECORDS TO BE RELEASED WITHIN THE HOUR." I covered the mouthpiece and told Smith to call the station and ask for permission to conduct a raid on the building to save the remaining hostages. He nodded as I picked up the tech's newest request mid-sentence: _will __let __you __know __it __has __been __approved__. __I __am __also __altering __my __original __request __for __transportation__. __You __will __have __the __buses __in __front __of __the __building __at __seven__, __not __ten__. __The __rules __regarding __the __standoff __distance __remain __in __place__; __the __buses __will __have __civilian __drivers __and __I __will __not __hesitate __to __kill __hostages __each __half __hour __the __buses __are __late__._

He hung up abruptly without allowing me to respond, perhaps knowing that I would capitulate out of necessity. I turned around to see Smith tightly gripping an outside line phone and frustration smoldering in his eyes. He slammed the handset down into the cradle and stepped outside; I followed, hugging myself and rubbing my arms against the night chill. He passed on that the Chief refused to let them go in early, that the original plan to use the buses as a way to get close to the building was still in effect.

Um, the financial records were released in full before two some time, I don't remember exactly when, but I remember that it took a while for the news companies to run the story—

"But that guy downstairs—Adams is it?—thinks they were fudged. I saw part of his report this morning."

Yes, he thinks they delayed releasing them so that they could cover up their activities with smaller inconsistencies and mistakes. It took him days to figure it out. But that night, it only took a couple hours for the techs to realize something was amiss. Smith was off making final preparations for the raid and getting the buses arranged. I was in the command van, trying to sleep at the narrow table, head resting on arms crossed over the metal tabletop. I think it goes without saying I didn't sleep that much that night. I was flitting in and out of dreams of chasing a man up and down endless staircases; I knew he was the tech from the phone, but I could never catch a glimpse of his face.

Anyway, I was startled from this dream by the phone ringing. Wearily I looked up and a Special Response guy handed the phone across to me. I answered it groggily. The voice on the other end, however, was wide awake. _These __records __are __incomplete__._ I was confused and asked him what he expected me to do about it. _I __expect __you __to __fix __it__, __Fitch__._ That would take time; time I knew we didn't have before the raid. He knew it too, adding: _And __it __needs __to __be __fixed __before __seven__. __We __both __know __there __will __be __no __incentive __once __I__'__m __gone__. __I __take __that __back__, __I __still __have __your __sister __to __motivate __you__._

I had finally woken up completely. I demanded to know why he really thought he'd make it out of there alive if he kept threatening Katie. _Because __you __have __no __other __choice__. __Either __you __let __us __leave __unharmed__, __or __you __try __to __attack __me __and __the __hostages __die__._ I told him I didn't see him being the martyring type. _You__'__re __right__. __Either __way__, __I__'__m __walking __right __out __the __front __doors__._ He hung up then, leaving me completely perplexed. I never talked to him again.

"And you never got back in touch with SSI to get new records?"

Oh someone got in touch with them. It wasn't me. I had one of the Special Response guys that Smith singled out call the station and pass this on. Of course, like the rest of that evening, my support from them was shit. I guess he finally just called their London office and talked to someone in PR. Around quarter after four, while Smith and I were walking through the raid for the ninth time, the news channels began reporting that new records would be released by SSI as a sign of good faith when the hostages were released.

"So you used that as part of the distraction for the timing of the raid. Smart move."

It wasn't mine; it was Smith's. He was brilliant, really. Yes, he had realized that having the techs watching and waiting for records to be released would divide their attention between the buses arriving and the news, which played to our advantage. Those last couple hours prior to the raid were spent quietly repositioning the Special Response forces that had previously been arrayed completely around the cordon to a car park about two kilometers off to the south, away from the media. We replaced them all with new officers coming on duty or cycling back through that had been on scene Monday morning. Smith and I finally moved our command post over to the bus staging area around half five; we left the command van where it had been so as not to draw suspicion, but all the comms and surveillance was moved to several vehicles by the buses.

The biggest inconvenience was getting the Special Response teams onto the buses so early. Smith hated that we had to have them seated and ready on the buses before sunrise—parading dozens of fully armed troops onto the two buses the techs had requested in broad daylight wasn't going to give us any element of surprise. I insisted on going with them, something Smith was initially against, but I wouldn't hear of it with Katie still inside and my not knowing how she was. He finally agreed with the caveat that I be escorted in after they had already secured the lobby and he could spare two team members to fall back and retrieve me from the second bus as the rest of the team moved further inside the building.

So I boarded the second bus just as Tuesday morning was arriving in that blue-grey half-light before dawn; Smith boarded the first bus at the same time. The Special Response members on my bus seemed calm, but I could tell that they were anxious to finally carry out the plan they had been working on all night. The windows were completely tinted except for the windshield and driver's window so that the techs would be able to see the civilian driver they had requested (that he was an officer in plain clothes was always non-negotiable), but would not see the dozens of Special Response troops.

As the sun was rising, we started rolling, looping around and following the path other members of the force had cleared directly through the middle of the media gaggle, approaching the SSI building from the east so the sun would be shining right into the lobby. It had also been Smith's idea to drive right through the media, letting them have their close-up shots of the buses on the way in since the medical trailers had been set up to the northwest, even further from the media than our staging area had been.

The buses passed the barricades and entered that uncomfortably empty standoff area surrounding the building, slowly driving around the planted trees and light poles. Each member was patting down his vest and equipment, double- and triple-checking. For my part, I was just trying not to hyperventilate. At the front of the bus, the leader of this second group stuck one finger in the air—one minute until go. I felt for the pistol on my right thigh, verifying it was safed.

We pulled up at the end of the wide sidewalk leading to the front doors, the front of our bus blocking the latter half of the first bus so both platoons of Smith's men could pour out simultaneously. The brakes emitted a loud hiss as we ground to a halt, then the front of each bus began lowering pneumatically, the hissing building in a cacophony with the beeping warning people to stand clear as it lowered closer to the ground. There was a pause as the bus settled and the driver opened the door. Then, the leader on my bus clenched his fist and the first four Special Response troops slinked off the bus and rushed the door, followed by four more including the bus leader. From my seat, I saw Smith disembark the other bus in their second squad.

The crackling report of gunfire echoed back along the aisle of the bus; I slid to the other side and watched the last few squads pour into the lobby, muzzle flashes abundantly clear even as sunlight reflected off the windows on the building above. It was maybe a couple minutes later that two men scurried back out towards the bus and motioned for me to join them. I followed, slightly apprehensive at entering SSI again, but their confident manner helped put me at ease a bit. Two more officers stood inside the door, ready to assist whoever they rescued and guide them onto the buses. We didn't linger in the lobby; I glanced around at the bullets riddling the walls and makeshift barriers, but what got my attention the most were the machine guns, barrels still glowing red and wisps of smoke curling out into the air, that poked out from the wall the techs had erected. Inexplicably, though, there wasn't a single body of a Special Response team member on the floor, no blood pooling ominously or smeared grotesquely.

Before I could ask about it, they bodily forced me around the wall, past the guns and hundreds of shells lying like sand on the tile, and down a short hall to the elevator I had taken upstairs the previous evening. We waited for the elevator to come back down. Just as the elevator pinged to alert us of its arrival, one of the men received a 'second floor clear' message on the radio. To my surprise, we skipped the second floor and rode back up the third floor. I felt sweat drops break out on my forehead and on my back knowing that I was that much closer to my sister...and all the techs who had held her hostage.

Simultaneous with the chime, the doors slid open and my senses were bombarded by heavy caliber gunfire and shouting. My escorts pushed me to the side; we stacked up along the wall with our guns drawn and shuffled closer to the cubicle farm. Small explosions—what I assumed to be grenades—were going off intermittently in the center of the trashed cubicles and massive muzzle flashes appeared from various offices and the debris field covering most of the floor.

The troop pressed uncomfortably against my shoulder yelled over the noise, "Blanks! They're all blanks!" At that, we hooked around the corner and my other escort opened an office to reveal about a dozen hostages all dressed in the grey jumpsuits, black sunglasses, and cloth masks the techs had worn when I visited earlier. At my escort's command, they scrambled up and joined their colleagues as they rushed towards the stairs. The two Special Response guys moved on to the next office, but I stayed in place, heart beating wildly as I looked around, trying to glimpse Katie, but it was an exercise in futility. I whirled around and jogged back to the elevator, riding it down to the lobby.

The first hostages were being herded out the doors, through a gauntlet of officers, and onto the buses, each one flexicuffed as they boarded. The last passenger was being loaded onto the first bus as I ran out the front door, yelling for Katie. My shouts were drowned out by the bus lifting and driving off, though.

"So when did you—"

* * *

Harlan's question was interrupted by the tone of Emily's mobile. She frowned and withdrew it her back pocket. The number wasn't one saved in her phone, but the goosebumps on the back of her neck confirmed her suspicion this wasn't the first time she had received a call from this number. _Oh __shit__._

"Detective Fitch speaking."

"Of course you are, Emily."

Emily tensed at the smug intonation on the other end. She glanced at Harlan, who waved for her to leave, mouthing, _We__'__ll __catch __up __Monday_. Emily smiled apologetically and hurried out of her office. Closing the door behind her, she snapped, "I know I said you couldn't call me by my first name. Nothing's changed from yesterday."

"I'm going to say your name regardless. Get used to it, Emily."

Emily let out an annoyed sigh and began walking towards the stairs. To her right, she noticed Christopher Smith looking over at her from where he was bent at another officer's desk. "Fine, _Tony_," Emily spat the name. "Who do you want to disparage today? You did a top-notch job yesterday with my girlfriend."

"Can you call it disparaging if it's true?"

Emily let the question hang in the air, refusing to rise to Tony's goading. She heard him laugh lightly and felt like she was going to be sick.

"That's not why I called, however. I wanted to extend you an invitation."

"An invitation to what, exactly?"

"Dinner, Emily. Dinner and the opportunity for you to ask me any burning questions." Once again, the memory of Effy's knowing half-smile flashed across her mind. It was chased away by the identical look that Tony had worn in his picture on the SSI intern file.

"Alright, Stonem. Dinner."

"I knew you'd accept. I will have my driver pick you up in London; take the four fifteen train. My cook always serves at promptly seven thirty and I'd like some time to talk beforehand."

The line clicked off and, six steps later, Emily realized she was still holding the mobile to her ear.

* * *

Naomi raised her eyebrows and blinked rapidly once the photographer politely thanked her and stepped away to get an action shot or two. With her eyes adjusting back to normal after the flash, Naomi held her practiced smile as she shook hands with the older gentleman that had posed with her. He moved away and Naomi let her smile falter, turning and resting a hand against the chipped, battered brick wall.

As Emily had requested, Naomi did not follow her upstairs after their argument. Naomi spent the next couple hours sitting in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a cooling, neglected cuppa. Once Emily left for the station, she hastily showered and changed before arriving at her campaign function twenty minutes late. Erik had glared at her at first, but seeing the barely-contained pain churning beneath Naomi's perfected 'campaign smile' had made him back off. The function in question had been scheduled prior to the events at SSI—originally billed as a get-out-and-give-back volunteer opportunity, it had been converted into a joint volunteer-promoting and fixing Bristol's damaged psyche venture. _My __psyche __could __use __some __fixing __too_, Naomi lamented to herself. _Price __of __being __a __public __servant__, __love__: __your __personal __needs __come __a __distant __second __to __the __welfare __of __the __people_.

Naomi pushed off the wall and slowly walked down the slope, stooping to help people plant barren flower beds and spread mulch around the park's barren gardens. Small stone swaths cut through the hill, creating terraces that smoothly flowed from one to another down to the river. All over the hill, members of Bristol's retiree volunteer group were working side-by-side with college students from the city's public schools. Kneeling to help a young girl stabilize a sapling, Naomi affected her smile once more.

As her position obligated, Naomi had given a small speech upon her tardy arrival. Her imploring of Bristol's more mature citizens to reach out and assist the young ones with understanding the importance of giving back and becoming productive citizens themselves resonated with the adults in her audience, but judging by the looks of skepticism and the smirks from the students, they were more interested in checking off their form requirements for community service than heeding Naomi's warnings about the destructive nature of a hedonistic coming-of-age.

Naomi picked up a pile of stakes from the grass beside her right knee and awkwardly stoop-walked around the tree placing the stakes into the end of five supports radiating from the sapling. The girl Naomi was assisting pounded the narrow wooden stakes into the ground, a look of concentration etched on her young features as she tried to strike each stake perfectly and secure the supports for her small tree.

Her work complete, the girl smiled a thank you at Naomi and set off up the hill to help her friends. Naomi remained squatting next to the three, chin resting on her shoulder as she watched the girl and the other volunteers mulch, weed, and plant on the terrace above her. A shadow darkened the bark of the ash she had just helped the college student plant.

"Don't get up just yet, Minister," growled a voice from over her shoulder. She sensed someone mimic her stance just behind her left shoulder. "Act like you're working on fixing some of those stakes and listen."

"What d'you want?" She glanced over her shoulder, finding a man with a bizarrely trimmed beard looming far too close for comfort.

"Turn around!" he barked angrily. Naomi looked back at the tree, toying aimlessly with the rubber mallet on the ground in front of her. _Who __the __fuck __was __this__?_

"Do you love your girlfriend?"

"What?" Naomi was having trouble thinking about anything other than the man's menacing presence. The park seemed to be contracting around her, closing in and shutting her off from the other volunteers.

"Answer yes or no!"

"Yes."

"If she doesn't want to end up like her moped, she'll stop investigating what happened last week. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," said Naomi shakily. "But you'll never touch her, you fucker."

"She almost finished the job for us by falling in front of that bus. Luckily for her, she had a guardian angel. She won't be so lucky next time."

"Bus? What the fuck are you talking about?" There was a rustle and the shadow disappeared from the tree and mulch in front of her. Naomi whirled to find the man striding briskly along the river, his back to her and both hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black jacket. _Now __what __aren__'__t __you __telling __me__, __Ems__?_


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **Well, I guess we're firmly in AU territory now. Enjoy, comment if the mood strikes, and look for another update in the next few days. Take care!

Naomi let her feet dangle in the water as she weighed her mobile uncertainly in her right palm. Emily's phone number floated on the screen, its white numbers promising Naomi that all she had to do was press the button and she would have instant connection with the person least likely to listen to any warning she gave. Especially a warning about her. Emily was independent on the best days, beyond stubborn on her worst, and Naomi knew that she certainly wasn't going to receive Emily's best this afternoon. Not after how they had left things that morning. Unfortunately, after the threats the wildly bearded man had made, Naomi knew she had no choice other than to talk to Emily. And with her campaign event wrapped up, Erik shaking hands with the president of the volunteer group, and the students dispersed along the harbor and streets above, Naomi had nothing to distract her from the call.

She didn't expect it to be a particularly pleasant talk, but fuck it. Naomi gritted her teeth, imagining all the consultations and meetings she had had during session with members of the Opposition who were more likely to chastise and laugh at her opinions than to consider them and recommend new ideas. Emily was liable to be twice as chastising and just as eager to dismiss Naomi's concerns. None of that mattered if there was one...goon, for lack of a better term, (maybe more) in Bristol trying to hurt her girlfriend.

Naomi pressed the button and raised the phone to her ear. Her eyes fixated on the small ripples made by her bare feet in the river. After three rings, the line went active, but Emily did not answer straight away. Naomi noted a constant whirring noise in the background, as if her girlfriend were driving quickly with the windows down.

"Emily? Hello?"

"What do you want, Naomi? I don't want to talk right now."

Naomi chewed her lip without taking her eyes off the river. "I know. I know, but I..." She trailed off and looked up at the grey skies above, following the lazily moving clouds as she struggled to find the right way to word her warning. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. We're talking, so I'm not under duress or anything. Satisfied?" Her voice dripped with condescension.

"No, not entirely. I think someone's trying to hurt you."

"Is there a mirror around right now?"

Naomi looked down at her reflection, partially distorted by the small waves bumping against the harbor wall. Nevertheless, it wasn't distorted enough to hide the despair spreading from her eyes outward. "Yes, I suppose."

"Well, there you go."

Shaking her head, Naomi swallowed and paused. "You're sounding an awful lot like your sister, and it's not endearing."

"You know what's really not endearing? Fielding call after call about how my girlfriend is dealing with what happened at SSI. About how my actions will affect her ability to represent Bristol. About whether or not my failure to conduct a successful investigation is bringing down your stature and standing. About whether my brashness is putting _you_ in danger."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Naomi struggled to keep her voice from climbing an octave.

"Devlin Franks. Reporter for the _Post_ that won't quit calling me. I talked to him twice, then blocked his number. He's called me three times since, leaving a voicemail each time."

"And you're blaming me because a reporter wants to know about the biggest news story in Bristol in our lifetime?"

"It's not why he's calling, so much as what he knows when he calls. Naomi, he knows everything!"

"And that's my fault?"

"You're the only person that I've told some of these things to, so that narrows down the suspects a little bit, doesn't it?"

"This is a fucking terrible joke, Em."

"Do I sound like I'm joking?"

Naomi didn't answer immediately, looking around at the park. Where the fuck did this reporter come from? Why hadn't Emily mentioned it before? "Of course it doesn't. Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

"You were in London, and I had bigger things to worry about. Still do, to be honest, but now that it's come up—"

"Come up?" interrupted Naomi. "You brought it up on your own!...You're still on about this morning, aren't you? About me wanting you to give up the case? That's what this is really about."

"No shit, Naomi. First Ross, now this reporter. It's more and more obvious why you want me to give up the case."

"I want you to give up the case because it's dangerous, Emily. That's it. That's why I'm calling."

"Joining the cryptic warning club?" Emily's voice asked sarcastically. The sound of something travelling at high speeds persisted in the background. "Because getting them from Tony Stonem every now and again is more than enough for me—I can't handle it from you on top of it all."

"Fine. There was this guy today at the volunteer event." Naomi found herself waving her free hand in the air as she described the menacing man from earlier. "Tall, well-built. Really, weird beard trimmed in sharp lines like teeth. He told me that if you didn't stop investigating SSI, you'd end up like your moped."

"My moped," whispered Emily.

"Yes, concerned now? He also mentioned something about a bus and an angel?"

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Huh. Emily, the point is," Naomi paused as the sound of an intercom wheedled through the mobile. "The point is where the fuck are you?"

"I'm on a train," Emily stated bluntly. "Problem?"

"Yes! Obviously!" Naomi stood, her fist clenched at her side. She opened it and smoothed back her hair. "Care to tell me where you're going?"

"No."

"I just told you there's someone out there trying to hurt you, Emily! And you're traveling alone?"

"Stop trying to protect me, alright? I can take care of myself. Why do we keep going over the same ground again and again?"

"Please trust me on this, Ems. I'm not trying to hide anything," _Liar_, a voice in her head whispered simultaneously. "Just...be patient, alright? Things will be better after the election, I promise."

"I'm sorry, Naomi. Trust isn't something I'm putting much stock in at the moment."

Naomi rolled her eyes and squeezed them shut to stop a public breakdown, thumbing the 'End Call' button as she turned away from the river. The only silver lining Naomi could think of was that wherever Emily's train was headed, there wasn't a creepy bearded guy at the end of the line trying to take her apart like her moped. The half-reassurance it provided was enough for her to straighten up and, once more, put a practiced smile on for Erik at the top of the hill.

* * *

Under the light of two crystal chandeliers suspended overhead and small spotlights nestled on the pillars, a series of oil painting prints were displayed around the fireplace, two on either side of the mantle with the third centered above the mantle; each of the four outer paintings nearly a half meter tall and a meter wide and the centerpiece a meter and a quarter tall and two wide. Small framing prints of the sun's rays piercing through thin clouds were nestled just below the intersection of wall and ceiling.

The first print in the sequence hung to the left of the mantle, showing the first light of daybreak chasing away the swirling cloak of darkness from a lush, hilly country bordering an expansive eastern sea. Strands of cloud coiled up from a bay as from the barrel of a recently discharged cannon; a solitary boulder upon a pointed peak rose out of the clouds, basking in the new sun's rays. A river ascended up to the bay from the hills in the lower right-hand corner of the painting bearing what seemed to be native persons in a canoe. A handful of other wooden craft rested on the banks just below a transitory settlement of hunter-gatherers: a collection of tents surrounding a cooking fire continued off the center-right of the landscape. In the foreground, the men of that settlement chased deer, rabbits, and other game unseen through the hills and deciduous forests of the virgin land, bows strapped to their backs and hand-crafted spears thrust forward; a stream bubbled over rocks on its way down to the river.

A peaceable, arcadian landscape sprawled just below the savagery of the first print. The viewpoint was shifted inland somewhat—revealing a majestic mountain peak far off in the distance—so that the beach at the end of the bay was visible. Larger seagoing vessels in various stages of construction on its shores were waiting their turn to join ones already plying the bay's waters. Houses and smoke from a blacksmith's shop peeked out along the shoreline behind several rolling hills. A Stonehenge-like religious construct presided over the town below, jutting out above the bay on a small cliff. On one side of the painting, muses collaborated on harps and woodwind instruments in a shaded glade while others danced draped in a mantle of spring flowers. A bridge spanned a shallow gully just above the lower frame; a boy worked diligently at a crude drawing on the stones under the watchful eye of a lady dressed purely in white and a soldier protecting the road. In the leftmost foreground, a wizened man sat on a tree root, stick outstretched in front of him as he sketched geometric shapes into the mud. Above the artistic child, a hill with several thickly trunked trees hosted a sheep herder and his wards. Overwatching the entire scene, as before, was the solitary rock upon the pointed peak.

Over the mantle, a scene of revelry and grandeur marked the pinnacle of evolution for the civilization previously seen thousands of years prior in its embryonic stages. At midday, a party is in full-swing along the bay. A parade of scholars, victorious soldiers, and a triumphant ruler atop an elephant marched from right to left across a garland-adorned bridge as golden statues of warriors perched on white pedestals, each upheld by four Ionic pillars, kept the watch from either side of the bridge. Gold hulled sailing ships with dozens of spindly oars lunging for the water moved up and down the bay bringing commerce and culture to and fro. An onyx fountain rose in organic curves and twists from a large pool as onlookers on a balcony cheered and blew trumpets at the echelons on parade. Along both sides of the bay, reaching deep into the painting, marble-columned buildings housed markets, baths, and temples. Gardens overflowed from intermediate levels of the city; statues of patron deities held swords and other symbols aloft as they gave their blessing to the festivities taking place in their honor. Nevertheless, above the urban debauchery, that same solitary stone upon its pointed peak reached skyward in the distance.

In the upper right of the arrangement, that same bacchanalian state had fallen prey to the dogs of war. Where only decades earlier that solitary stone upon the pointed peak had borne witness to the wonders of a fruitful empire, it now was wreathed in smoke from a multitude of fires ablaze in the city. Stone deities were bombarded into debris, which crumbled into the churning waves indicative of an approaching evening squall, but the rain seemed to be far too late to mitigate the damage already done by an invading army. Two armies clashed madly on the expanse of bridge so recently used for celebration; soldiers, horses, and hurled weapons tumbled into the waters as the body count continued to climb and the piled dead began to rival the ranks of the living in number. Warships spat fire at one another, mirroring the fight on land. To the fore, the statue of an iconic war hero held its shield out in what had once been a battle cry. Now decapitated, the statue towered over the terrible desecration of a city, blind to the atrocities being committed at its feet: women being pushed off of the wall into the pitching sea, scores of civilians murdered, and arsonists running rampant in search of new targets to burn.

Finally, in the last picture, nature was well on her way to reclaiming what the civilization had taken from her. Under the twin lights of a rising full moon and the sun's ambience that lingers just after the sun itself has been extinguished for the night, thick moss and vines covered the decaying marble remains of a previously proud civilization. The bay flowed uninterrupted past the piecemeal abutments of the bridge, ferns and plants wriggling out of cracks in the stone to cover anything man-made with a layer of flora. The hollow, sliced bases of statues stand in the distance as warnings to those traveling from the across the ocean to the now-uninhabited country depicted. Moreover, unlike the other four paintings, there was not a single living creature or person in sight, and still the solitary rock upon its pointed peak persevered.

"Do you like it?" asked Tony quietly, though Emily still jumped at the sound of his voice. He stood knowingly in the doorway, as if the bewitching nature of the collection had worked its magic on even him time and again.

"It's _The __Course __of __Empire_. Painted by Thomas Cole, an American, in the middle of the nineteenth century. He intended it to be presented in just this arrangement, though it traveled extensively for a time." Tony strolled forward across the hardwood floor, a tumbler in his left hand; he saluted the central print with a raise of his glass as he stopped even with Emily in front of the fireplace. "One certainly understands why."

"How'd they end up hanging in your drawing room?"

Tony smirked. "I saw them; I wanted them. Here they are."

Emily looked to her left and arched an eyebrow. "Museums don't usually let people walk out with invaluable pieces as a party gift."

"I won't lie, the set cost me quite a bit. But it's worth it, don't you agree?"

"Hmm," mused Emily noncommittally, turning back to look at _The __Consummation __of __Empire_.

Tony took a sip of his drink. "Oh, I've forgotten my manners again. Can I get you something, Emily?"

"I...No, thanks. I'm fine." Emily frowned. "For now. You said you wanted to talk."

"I did, sit," replied Tony. He gestured to a taupe leather armchair and mirrored her movements to another chair situated on the thick rug spread in front of the fireplace. "You're wondering what interest I have in Strategic Security Initiatives."

Emily sat and crossed her legs, placing her bag on the rug and withdrawing her worn notepad. She chose to play it safe. "I'm wondering a lot of things about your interest in my case, Mr. Stonem."

His lips flicked upwards before settling back in an impartial line. He swirled his drink and took another sip. "So ask."

A hundred thoughts raced in circles through Emily's mind as she flipped open the notepad and scanned over her notes. After a couple silent minutes during which Tony eyed her, amused, over his glass Emily closed her notepad, clasping her hands hands over it on her lap. "You worked at SSI."

"Yes, I did."

"You did an internship there while you were at uni."

"I did." The half-smirk had returned.

Emily uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. Clearly, despite his comments on the phone, Tony was not going to be directly forthcoming. _No __more __yes __or __no __questions__, __Ems__._ "How does a middle-class kid from Bristol who would rather get trashed than get his homework done on time, end up living like this?"

"How does a college stoner end up as one of the fastest rising Members of Parliament the House has seen in half a century? And I always made top marks, for the record."

"I'm sure you did."

Tony allowed himself a small laugh and stood up, walking around Emily to look out the floor-to-ceiling window at the expansive grounds behind the house. Emily twisted in her chair, watching him. He stuck one hand in his pocket, tilted his chin up, and raised his glass. The tumbler hesitated for a moment before being lowered back to his hip, the ice cubes clinking against one another. Stonem rattled them and took a breath.

"I never really had any life goals or anything when we were in college. No...big plans or road map towards an end state where I held a certain position or worked in a certain field. And when I had the accident, those non-plans seemed to be secured. Taking the long view wasn't something I had much experience with back then.

"Then I got to Cardiff. My first year I spent in much the same way as college." The gardens received a troubled frown. Emily had quietly opened her notepad again, her pen hovering over a blank page. Tony continued, "Things...things changed the spring of my second year."

He trailed off and wandered over to the liquor cabinet in the corner, pouring himself another drink from the crystal set. Emily waited until he had placed the bulbous top of the decanter back in place before suggesting quietly, "Effy."

"Effy." Tony walked back over to the window, standing at an angle so he could appraise Emily and the grounds in the same field of view. "Almost losing my sister was terrifying, as you know. Afterwards, I cut down on the drugs, the partying...liquor has been a bit tougher to ween myself off of. But it meant I had time to start getting involved in different activities at school; my marks did improve. That whole long-term goal thing became a lot more appealing."

"And that goal was?"

Tony's eyes flicked towards Emily, then back outside. "I applied for the semester-long internship at SSI the following spring and was one of two in the country to receive it. They were very selective. Defense contracts hadn't ever piqued my interest before, but it was a paid internship with a respected, thriving company. And it was in Bristol, so I could be close to home, to Effy."

His brow furrowed. "They worked me long hours crunching numbers, typing up reports. Droll work, to be sure, and it only held my interest for a couple weeks. So I talked my way into being allowed to go from department to department at my leisure. I sat in on sales pitches, production meetings, lobbying efforts; I traveled with some of their reps to France, Germany, Canada, Finland. It was around that Christmas that I finally figured out what I wanted to do."

"Yes?"

"International business of a sort. Trade is the lifeblood of any country; it certainly has been ours, just as it was theirs." He nodded at the paintings behind Emily. "Cole was a student of history. He and many of his contemporaries saw America as the next great empire rising, so he painted this collection to serve as a cautionary tale against what the excesses of empire have wrought in ages past. And that's well and good. It's quite instructive in that sense. But I think I fall more in the 'History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it' camp."

"Churchill. I'd like to think I side more with Cole, though." Emily cleared her throat. "Mr. Stonem, you did one internship with SSI years ago. I don't see how that makes you so interested in what happened to them last week. Or what the paintings of a long-dead American have to do with them, for that matter."

Tony smiled to himself and took a long drink. The amber-colored liquid sloshed gently in the tumbler as he lowered it and walked around her chair. Placing the glass on the mantle, he leaned his shoulder against the brickwork surrounding the unlit fireplace. "Please, Emily, it's Tony."

"We're not friends."

"No, I—" Another knowing smile tugged at his cheek. Tony crossed one foot over the other and unbuttoned his suit jacket. "I never meant to suggest we were. Peers, yes. Equals, yes. But I suppose friends is too strong a word. You asked two questions, and I believe I can answer both of them at the same time.

"Over the course of every great civilization, there are those who abuse their position, their stature for self-serving purposes. It's the only way that you transition from this," Tony extended his arm to pat the frame of the centerpiece of the empire in full regalia, "to this." He stepped back and gestured to the once-glorious city being sacked. "That does not happen on its own. Actors at an empire's, a nation's, a company's highest levels make the conscious decision to abandon the ideals they had previously upheld in pursuit of personal gain."

Tony alighted on the arm of the massive chair directly across from Emily. "You see, Emily, there are those people whose loyalty lies with the pounds sterling in their profit margin, who are willing to sell their souls for the prospect of a greater financial reward. There are some who commit themselves to serving the common good, whose loyalty is to the crown and their fellow citizens. Finally, there are those whose loyalty lies with those close to them, who will do whatever it takes to protect those they love.

"You have to decide which one commands your loyalty, Emily. Because in the end, when you're left with nothing, loyalty is the ultimate currency."

"And where do your loyalties lie, Mr. Stonem?" asked Emily solemnly, an expectant look peering out from under her bangs.

The sound of the heavy front doors slamming shut echoed into the drawing room through the partially open doorway. It was followed by faint voices, which grew louder as they approached. A tall, thickly built bald man pushed open the door Tony had left ajar upon his entrance and came to a standstill just inside the doorway. If it were possible for a man that intimidating to look sheepish, Emily was certain she was witnessing it.

"Boss, we're very sorry. Our car broke down on the M4. The shop was very slow fixing it, then we got stuck in traffic in London. We would be here much earlier."

Tony waved off the apology and stood. He glanced from Emily, then back to the large man. "Did you find who you were looking for, Bruno?"

"Yes, Mr. Stonem." He pivoted and pulled open the second door, stepping out of the way so Niko could lead their guest into the drawing room.

"You know, Tony, you have a fucking sick sense of self-worth if you think you can just—" Katie let her invective trail off as she stormed into the room, then noticed its second occupant. "What the fuck are you doing here, Emily?"

Emily stood and let her notepad fall to the carpet, her jaw plummeting with it. "I could ask you the same thing, Katie."


	23. Chapter 23

"Well that's just fucking great," fumed Katie. She jabbed an accusatory finger at Tony while he took another sip of whiskey. "You knew that I'd be coming back here, so you invited my sister over too!"

"Coming back here?" repeated Emily with a quirk of her head. She turned to Tony. "What's she talking about?"

"I think Katie should enlighten you. If you'll both excuse me..."

"Absolutely not," Katie retorted, placing her hand on Tony's chest as he tried to pass and pushing him back towards the fireplace. "You're the one who approached me, remember? So if you want to tell her, tell her. This isn't just my story to tell."

"And I will take that drink now," added Emily as she collapsed back into her chair. She reached down and picked up her notepad, needing a touchstone to remember this wasn't a dream. _What the fuck is Katie doing here?! _Tony composed himself, waved Bruno and Niko out of the room, and headed back to the far corner to pour Emily her drink.

"We were at a black tie event last spring. New product line we were rolling out...Christ, I can't believe I'm telling you this." Katie rolled her eyes and looked up at the chandeliers. She took a deep breath and wandered over to the fireplace. Fiddling with the golden pokers, Katie continued, "I never take a date to any company events because they always end up being shit and I leave early, but that night our CIO, my boss although I rarely see him since he works in London—"

"Osbourn Ross," blurted Emily before she could stop herself. She vaguely recalled Yancey telling her this, but it hadn't seemed important at the time compared to the revelations about Brian Long and hidden files. "Sorry, go on."

"Yes, why are you so shocked?"

Emily extended her arms and looked around at the drawing room. "Doesn't matter." Tony set her glass and a coaster down on the small table next to her chair before looping around behind Emily and sitting back down in his chair opposite her.

"Fine, well, Ross caught me trying to leave that night, so I had to stay. Tosser. I was over by the bar having a shot or two—"

"As I remember it, you were on your third when I joined you." Tony leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms out along the armrests. "I arrived late; see, that internship wasn't the only time I worked at SSI, Emily. I worked there for three years after uni, but left to pursue my own interests. I've consulted them on several projects over the years since. Ross never trusted my opinions—he didn't buy into some of the more advanced modelling I used. His loss, my appreciable gain."

"You were late arriving to a gala because you disagreed on how to run a business?"

"No, sorry for the tangent. I had a meeting earlier that evening with a business associate about a different project. I wasn't a consultant on the product SSI was releasing, but I happened to be in Bristol and figured I'd drop in. You know, say hello to Osbourn and a few other old friends." Tony gave Katie a half-smile. "Didn't expect the evening to turn out so well."

"I'm going to be sick," muttered Emily.

Simultaneously, Katie smirked back at Tony. "Don't expect any more evenings to turn out that well, hun." She turned to Emily. "It was never anything serious."

"Katie, that's not the point. The point is you didn't tell me, even after Tony showed up last Friday."

"Yeah, 'cause I especially wanted you to find out then. I knew you would jump to all sorts of wrong conclusions. I see the way your eyes are clouding over; you're doing it already! This is just fucking perfect."

Emily chewed her bottom lip, took a sip of her drink, and winced it down. "If it wasn't serious, then why have you been here before?"

"I'm afraid that's my fault," interrupted Tony. "Like usual, we arranged to meet and stay in a hotel, but after what happened at SSI earlier in the week, I thought it would be safer for Katie if she stayed here for a few days."

"And now what, you're escorting her back here?" asked Emily skeptically. She looked from Stonem to her sister. "You invited yourself back?"

"As if. I asked to stay with you because I knew Tony would try this. You had to go and ruin it with your own stunt last night."

"Oh, and what was that?"

"Personal issue," said Emily quickly. "What makes you think it's safer for Katie here than in Bristol?"

Tony gave Emily a challenging stare. "Personal issue."

"Personal for Katie or for you?"

Tony raised his eyebrows and took a long drink, watching Emily mirror his actions over the glass. As they set their glasses down together, Katie made an exasperated noise and rattled the fire pokers.

"Well, if you two are going to sit here and talk about me as if I'm not in the room, I'll not be in the room." Katie stalked out, shooting Tony a seething glare as she closed the door behind her. The door clicked closed as Tony continued to stare at Emily. She fidgeted, fingers tapping on her notepad uneasily. Eventually, when it was clear Tony was not going to speak up about his relationship with Katie or about SSI, Emily picked her glass up. She let it dangle from her fingers as she walked around her chair and appraised Tony's gardens.

"The business card you gave me said your job was an 'International Transactions Liaison.'"

"It does," Stonem confirmed in a level voice.

"What exactly do you do in that profession?"

"I do many things, some of them far from what you'd expect. Much as you had to act as lead negotiator during the hostage crisis." He rose, weaved around the loveseat that sat perpendicular to the chairs they had until recently occupied, and stood by the doors leading outside to a small patio. Running a hand along the handle, he looked over at Emily. "And before you ask, I was able to get my hands on a copy of your write-up, and no, I'm not going to tell you how. Suffice it to say, it is advantageous for me to have connections in many parts of the government."

Emily took another painful sip, considering Tony's admissions. What expectations of an 'International Transactions Liaison' did he think she carried? Who had leaked her write-up to him? She gazed out at the lengthening shadows cast by the trees, bushes, and patio furniture. "So you also know that the terrorists were convinced that the financial records SSI released were doctored."

"They were."

Startled, Emily tore her eyes from the beautiful evening landscape to look at Tony. He was fixated on some point beyond the glass, much as she had been. "Excuse me?"

"Any company the size of SSI, any group with so much success in the fields they're profitable in, has skeletons in their closet. Of course they wanted to hide them. We all have skeletons in our closets, things we regret doing because they go against everything we stand for otherwise. Don't you agree, Detective Fitch?"

Emily opened her mouth to respond, then opted to take a sip instead. Suddenly she was standing under a leaky awning outside a small convenience store, stunned by the scene unfolding across the street in each brief lightning flash, the humidity of mid-day summer thick in the air. She was squinting to make out a face in the sheets of rain falling, warily crossing the street to get a closer view. The memory faded as Tony's voice became more insistent in the present.

"Emily?"

"Sorry, Mr. Stonem. You have a beautiful estate. I...got lost in it for a moment," she covered hastily. Giving her host a faked smile, Emily crossed her arms and looked back outside. "You've done quite well for yourself, even for an arms dealer."

"That phrase is so archaic," Tony said dryly. "It conjures visions of men jet-setting to Third World countries; hiding out in run-down hotels with drugs and call women; carrying briefcases of money around under the nose of Customs and every international agency conceivable."

"So none of that is true?"

Tony shook his head back and forth, seeming to consider Emily's question. In a teasing voice he replied, "I do a lot of jet-setting." He smirked at Emily's unenthusiastic glare and opened the doors, striding out onto the patio and sitting in a wrought-iron chair. He placed his tumbler on a glass-topped table. Emily paused in the open doorway, staring at the back of Tony's head, thinking. Her fingers tapped softly on her glass.

"After all your talk about justice, about goals, you're just a merchant of death. Why are you so interested in me? In this case?" She sat in the chair on the other side of the table, turning it to face Tony directly.

"Viktor Bout was the Merchant of Death. He was a war profiteer, amoral, and sloppy. Yes, you can be successful for a time working as he did, but honestly, information is often more valuable than weapons these days." Stonem rested his forearm on the table and looked at Emily out of the corner of his eye, his voice straining to contain feelings of affrontement at his guest's accusations. "You think you can stereotype me, Detective, but you're wrong. Just like you, I want the truth to be found and justice to be done."

"You use the same words, but I don't think they mean the same to you as they do to me, Tony."

He turned, surprised that Emily had finally used his given name. "I find that boxing one's self into a corner with definitions makes it difficult to adapt to complex situations. Situations like your investigation."

Emily held his gaze for a moment. For all his riddles and half-truths, Tony certainly had given her a good deal of information. Far more than she had expected to receive, if she was being honest with herself. Emily looked away from her host's ice-blue stare. The shadows lengthened as they sat silently on the porch, occasionally sipping at their respective drinks.

With a light tinkling in the twilight, Emily sat her ice-filled glass down and stood. "I'm going to find Katie."

Tony nodded and looked up at the red-haired detective. "When you do, meet me in the kitchen for dinner. Both of you." As she headed for the doors to the drawing room, Tony called over his shoulder, "You'll likely find her upstairs in the library. Shouldn't be too hard to find."

Emily smiled weakly at his raven hair and closed the doors from the inside, leaving Stonem alone with his drink.

* * *

Katie was curled up under a blanket in a large reading chair as far from the door as she could be. Emily lingered at the door, peering into the darkness: Katie had neglected to turn on any lights when she escaped upstairs an hour earlier. Some last vestiges of sunlight stole around the heavy drapes and cream curtains hanging over the windows, outlining Katie's huddled form in the chair.

"Go away."

Emily huffed and walked further into the room, turning on each floor lamp she passed and marveling at the magnitude of Tony's literary collection. _Ironic __this __is __Katie__'__s __favorite __room__; __reading __might __be __her __least __favorite __thing __ever__._ Drawing her feet up under her as she sat down in another chair, this one facing the windows, Emily watched her sister sniffle and avoid making eye contact.

"You're going to have to look at me again some time, Katie." Emily leaned forward and to the side, attempting to put herself in Katie's line of sight, but her twin closed her eyes and turned away. "Oh that's just great, really mature of you. Please look at me."

"Fuck off," murmured Katie, her voice muffled by the blanket and her shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you it seems, if Tony has his way about it."

Katie finally shifted, spinning around and hugging her knees to her chest. Her feet were perched just on the edge of the seat cushion, the blanket cascading down to the carpet. She glared at Emily. "Nobody controls me."

"No?" Emily asked scathingly. "Certainly seemed like it when his two goons marched you in."

"They're not goons, really. Bodyguards maybe. But they're friendly enough...most of the time."

Emily nodded, feigning understanding. "Oh sure. They seemed really outgoing."

"Whatever." Katie pulled her knees closer to herself and fell silent. On the wall behind Emily, in a small gap in the bookshelves, a grandfather clock ticked rhythmically. Its constant _tick__-__tick__-__tick__-__tick_ filled the silence and helped give order to the whirlwind of thoughts Emily was trying to process.

Tony Stonem was an arms dealer. He had worked in uni as an intern at SSI and fallen in love with the travel and the adventure. Or rather, an 'International Transactions Liaison,' which he seemed to feel was a strong enough euphemism, but still meant he hawked his wares for every warlord, terrorist, or paramilitary group with deep enough pockets.. Or rather still, perhaps he consulted governments, leaders, and organizations on which weapons systems to buy and training regimens to use; which intelligence to believe or planting the seed that their intelligence was somehow faulty and he could provide a more accurate alternative. Or perhaps it was something else entirely—Emily reasoned it was possible _he_ was convinced whatever he did was noble and just and not in any way hindering the ability of others to freely determine their own fate without risk of persecution, serious bodily harm, or even death. _No __matter __what __it __is __he __does__, __it__'__s __obviously __not __entirely __above __board__, __which __explains __why __Naoms __couldn__'__t __find __anything __on __him __when __she __looked__...__but __if __he __worked __at __SSI __as __an __employee__, __that __should __have __shown __up__. __How __did __she __and __I __both __miss __that__?_

Still, Emily had to admit that her curiosity at what Tony actually did to accumulate so much wealth was matched by how he had chosen to use it. Admittedly, the number of information brokers and shadowy back room manipulators she interacted with on a regular basis was in the general realm of zero; however, Emily suspected most of them did not spend their questionably acquired income on mid-nineteenth century art and a book collection that rivaled Bristol's public library. _He__'__s __making __no __effort __to __fly __below __the __radar__, __that__'__s __for __sure_. His property didn't seem to be the only thing Tony Stonem had invested in with his income, if his admission that he saw a copy of her write-up and had contacts in the government was any indication. All of that money could reverberate around the halls Emily's girlfriend walked, and Tony did not seem like the type to put effort into something unless the outcome was advantageous to him alone.

_Not __unlike __you__, __Katiekins_, groused Emily silently. Their stop-and-start story about meeting at a company event seemed likely enough, but Emily doubted that Tony—or Katie for that matter—pursued the other without planning on flipping that relationship for some future bargaining chip or favor. That seemed to be how Tony worked, and it would not surprise Emily to learn her twin had tried to play the same game, only to be outmatched by the mythical Tony Stonem. '_Mythical__' __Tony __Stonem__, __that __does __seem __to __be __the __aura __he __gives __off__. __So __of __course __you __had __to __see __what __truth __there __was __to __it__, __eh __sis__? Looks like you're finally as fussed as everyone else._

"Are you just going to sit there staring at me, or are you ever going to say anything?" demanded Katie, snapping Emily out of her thoughts.

"Why are you upset with me? It's not like I knew you'd be here when I accepted Tony's invitation for dinner. If there's anyone to direct your frustration at, it's him."

"And why did you accept his invitation, Ems? Chat about Roundview and mutual friends? Somehow I doubt it."

Emily twisted her lip, hesitating. Katie's blunt take on her behavior since the attack had struck a nerve, despite Emily's best efforts to bury it beneath working the very case that caused her sister's concerns. Of course she had come to Tony's for professional purposes; she saw no reason to be there for personal reasons. Fitting that Katie was there for exactly the opposite.

"I think you know exactly why I'm here. He said I'd find answers here, and I'm not walking away empty-handed. You're not the only stubborn one in the family."

"Yeah? Well at least I'm not humiliating myself by prostrating in front of my boss to get my job back."

"What're you talking about?"

"Jenna called me while Bruno's car was fucked and wanted to know why the _Post_ was writing that you were first removed from the case for a conflict of interest, then brought back after—what was the line she read? Right—"grovelling and persistent begging." I told her that I wasn't speaking to you and had already cooperated completely."

Emily burst out of the chair. "What the actual fuck? You let her believe all that rubbish? Why didn't you back me up?"

"Emily, how could I after this morning? You," Katie lowered her voice to a whisper. "You broke into my offices because you were kicked off the case, which was stupid and impulsive, especially now that you're back working your precious investigation. Besides, the way you've been acting, how do I know you didn't beg to be let back in?"

"Because I'm your sister and you know Fitches never beg. Honest, I didn't even ask; the rep from the Home Office asked me to come back. Even if they agree with you that I'm loony, I'm a loony with the most information on what happened, and that counts for something." Emily clenched her fists as she paced back and forth. Katie squeezed her knees and stared straight over them. "Wait, which paper did Mom read that in?"

"I think she said the _Post_. Why?"

"I knew it! Fucking Franks!"

Katie turned at her sister's exclamation. "Sorry?"

"This reporter from the _Post_ has been poking into my business about me and Naomi and the case all week. It's embarrassing."

"Now you know how I feel, Em." Katie unclasped her hand and lowered her feet to the floor. A look of concern flashed across her tear-marred eyes. "He's really bothering you about how this is affecting you and Naomi?"

"That's been the general tact, yeah." Emily turned and bit her thumb. "Katie, do you think it's possible Naomi's using him to force me off the case?"

"How do you mean?"

Emily furrowed her brow, weighing each word carefully as she said, "He knows things I've only told her. Would you...Does it make sense for her to be using this Franks guy to get under my skin and make me give up investigating SSI so it's not a distraction from her campaign?"

Katie mulled it for a moment, then shrugged. "From a PR standpoint, I guess yeah having you involved in a messy case like this would be bad for business. But Ems, no matter how bitchy I think she can be, or how often I disagree with her, Naomi wouldn't concoct something that would hurt you like that. We're not kids any more."

"I know, but," Emily caught herself and walked back over to the chair opposite Katie, sitting on the edge of the cushion as it sank below her. "I think she might have taken money from your boss to make this all go away in the House...what? Katie, for fuck's sake this isn't funny!"

Katie utterly failed at stifling her chuckling and started laughing aloud. A minute passed as Emily felt her cheeks blooming with anger at her sister's insistence on finding her problems humorous and Katie continued laughing. Gradually, her laughter faded and Emily waited for what she hoped was a good explanation from the older twin.

"Ems, this is exactly why I said you're obsessed and why I walked out this morning. Naomi's been in politics and you've been with her the whole way, right?"

"Was that a question?"

"And has she _ever_ accepted a bribe for anything in the past?"

"Katie, this is totally different."

"No it isn't! Christ, it's like you didn't hear a word I said this morning, or just now. You're allowing this to become personal and it's clouding your judgment. This is bigger than just you or me or Naomi. You're mental if you think Naomi is on the take. Unless, of course, you have proof."

Emily shook her head dejectedly. _What __have __you __been __doing__, __Em__?_ "No just a rumor, but—"

"No," interrupted Katie triumphantly. She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow in an expression that oozed _I__'__m __always __fucking __right_. Her animosity and distaste towards Emily appeared dispelled by being able to put her sister in her place. "So if you're done being melodramatic, maybe we can go down to dinner?"

"Wait, Katie." Emily turned and looked up as her sister started moving towards the door. "I have unfinished business from this morning as well."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you're going to have at me about being selfish and taking things too personally, then I'm not letting you walk out of here without finishing what we started on the train. Quid pro quo."

"Speak fucking English, Em."

"Fine. I want to know the rest of what happened to you that night and the next morning until I finally found you in the medical trailer. As your sister, you at least owe me that much."

Katie looked over towards the door, then back at her sister, who was gazing up at her stoically. She sighed. _Fuck __it__. __One __last __story_. "Fine. But this is the last time I talk about that night with you, Emily. I want to forget about it."

"I wish I could, Katie. Let me get my notepad out—right. So after they put you in the office with other co-workers?"

* * *

Yeah. I felt like we were all cattle getting processed and set aside for some horrible fate. No one was talking, we were all just sitting there wearing these jumpsuits, staring across the room at one another. My shoulders started to hurt from being flexicuffed behind me, especially after how 'gently' they treated me that morning. I couldn't tell you who else was in that room with me, but I finally just gave in and tried to sleep. Most useless sleep I've had in my fucking life. It lasted for an hour at most.

One of the techs opened the door and walked straight over to me. He grabbed my left bicep and pulled me up, nearly dragging me out of the office; my feet and lower legs had fallen asleep. Another tech must've been waiting outside the door because they blindfolded me again and walked me all over the place before pulling the blindfold off. There was a little bit of light that was coming through cracks in the blinds covering the window, but it was enough to recognize I was back in that God forsaken office on the back wall of the floor. The same office in which their leader had shot the pizza boxes and forced me to enter fake personnel into the company records. I heard the lock engage on the door and I was left alone; they hadn't uncuffed me. I stood completely still in the dark office, waiting.

I could have stood there for two minutes or two hours, the passage of time is so fucked when you're alone, handcuffed, and in a dark room, Ems. I finally took a few steps forward, shuffling in case I ran into something. Just as I moved away from it, a key jangling in the door lock broke the silence. It swung open and a single tech sauntered in—and I mean sauntered. He was so pleased with himself, like he'd just shagged an unobtainable and he knew he was hot shit.

The door closed behind him as he walked past me and turned to look across the desk back towards me. Placing both hands on the back of the chair, he pulled it out from the desk and patted it. _I__'__ve __got __another __job __for __you __to __do__, __Katie_.

I told him to fuck off and stop using my name, but he roared with laughter and said that he'd do neither. I didn't move and we stood there silently in the dark, each barely visible to the other. Finally, he said _Don__'__t __be __stupid__. __I __have __ways __of __making __you __do __this __whether __you __want __to __or __not__._ I just stared at him. He shrugged nonchalantly and started back around the chair, lazily dragging his right hand along it as he walked. He knocked on the door to the office and continued his loop around to the chair. I kept facing the desk the entire time, refusing to give him the satisfaction of piquing my curiosity.

Behind me the door opened and someone tripped and tumbled into the room. As they were groaning, the door shut as quickly as it opened. The third person whispered a nervous hello, which neither of us answered, although I recognized the voice of one of my co-workers in the PR division. She asked if anyone was there; her blindfold had been left on from being moved from another office to that one The tech pointed at me, then the chair he was standing behind. I shook my head animatedly. Fuck if I was going to play his game.

_SIT __DOWN __IN __THIS __FUCKING __CHAIR __RIGHT __FUCKING __NOW_. I flinched as he screamed at me, I'll admit it. At least I didn't scream and piss myself like my co-worker.

"And her name was?"

It's not important, Em, just let me tell the story, okay? Right, so I shuffled around and sat in the bloody chair, since it was obviously very important to him. Actually, not so obviously as she tried to stand up, thinking that he had been talking to her about sitting down. In a rush of motion, he darted across the office and kicked her in the gut, sending her back to the floor with a cry of pain. He grabbed her by the collar and bodily dragged her over to one of the small chairs on the other side of the desk. Withdrawing a length of thin but strong cable from his pocket, the tech looped it around his shoulder and somehow had a knife in hand...I'm not sure where he pulled it from, but the sound it made when he flicked it open was so eerie that I uncontrollably shivered.

He squatted down and placed the knife along her Achilles, growling for her not to move if she ever wanted to walk correctly again. He tied her ankles to the chair and then cut her flexicuffs, manipulating her arm and placing pressure on her tricep to keep control of her as he lowered one arm to the chair and tied it off, then did the same to her freely offered right arm. The only sounds other than the knife cutting the cable were her sobs.

Once she was completely trapped in the chair, the tech reached out and snatched her blindfold off before coming back around to my side of the desk and powering on the monitor. Its blue-hued light would have blinded me if I hadn't turned away and closed my eyes just before he toggled the switch. _You __will __send __a __short __message __to __the __news __stations __that __the __man __they __just __saw __shot __on __live __television __was __a __loyal __employee __named __Brian __Long__._ I couldn't help myself, Emily. I sarcastically asked him something like "And if I'd rather not?" and he moved to stand behind me (where he cut my flexicuffs), whispering in my ear _Then __I __bet __she __would__._

He stalked in a circle, leaning on the far side of the desk with his back to me just off to my left; I could see my co-worker's frantic eyes pleading with me to do what he asked. Looking between us, he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a lighter, then pulled a pack of fags from the front pocket on his jumpsuit. Holding the pack and lighter in one hand, he stared at my co-worker and wriggled the cloth mask down from his face so it hung limply around his neck. Skillfully shuffling one fag above the others in the pack and tugging it out with his teeth, he let it dangle from his lips as he lit it. The small embering end glinted in the dark office and he took a long draw, shoving up off the desk and situating himself by her right side, squatting so as to be over her up-turned, tied down forearm.

He looked up at her terrified eyes, then across at me. I was shooting him daggers of the kind Jenna can only dream of, but he just smiled and took the fag from his lips. _The __message__, __Fitch__._ He turned the fag over so the lit end was hovering over her arm. My glare wavered, looking from the closing distance between her arm and the fag to her eyes, which were begging me to just do what he asked.

I yelled that I'd do it just as he was about to press the fag into her arm. Pausing, he looked up at me knowingly. _Then __what __are __you __waiting __for__?_ I reached out, flexed my fingers, and typed up the message as fast as I could. It was difficult to type and try to keep my eyes on the end of that fag at the same time, but I managed. I pulled up the email program, scanned the address book for the distribution list I use to send press releases out to the media, and sent off the message without signing my name. I told him it was done and to let her go, but he shook his head and stood up. Coming back around to look at the monitor, I showed him the email now innocently resting in the 'Sent Items' folder. _Thank __you __for __cooperating__._

The leader knocked on the door and then started cutting her bonds, kneeling down to start with her legs. One of his associates came in and helped free her. As her arms and legs were freed, she pitched forward out of the chair onto all fours. She dry-puked in front of the desk and the leader whispered rather loudly to take her to the restroom and make sure she didn't make a mess. Then...then he put another set of flexicuffs on me, blindfolded me, and took me back to an office with everyone else...what Emily?

"Nothing, it can wait til the end."

Good. I'm almost done, alright? I was shaking when he shoved me down on the ground in my new prison. The shaking didn't stop for a while, but I just closed my eyes and tried to block everything out. It didn't help as the tiny flickering end of a fag seemed to be burning at the end of a black tunnel every time I squeezed them shut. Randomly, they would come in and move people out of the office. I had this crazy thought that I hadn't been the only person to be coerced into doing things, but there was a nagging feeling that was a lie.

"Yancey said they moved everyone around randomly to confuse you all."

That does make more sense. Anyway, the last office I was dropped off in must have been on the eastern side of the building 'cause suddenly there was light filtering in around the blinds and hasty black paint they had put up on the inside of the window. I didn't realize that I had slept at all, but I must have done. My shoulders were sore again and my feet were numb. There was some commotion from out in the cubicle farm, then the door opened and Yancey was coming in, handing us sunglasses and cloth masks like the ones the techs had worn all day. He had this glazed look over his eyes, as if operating on auto-pilot and just going through the motions. I knew exactly how he felt, Ems—it was the self-preservation instinct I had been running on when they asked me to put the fake people into the company records. They grabbed one of the people in my office and dragged her out when Yancey left and we all looked like techs, but a couple minutes later a man was unceremoniously dumped on us to replace her. He was trying not to cry, but failing miserably.

It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes later that explosions started going off outside the office and the deafening report of large guns echoed through the building. I thought I had been dropped in one of those World War II movies Granddad would watch when we were younger...then the glass in the door shattered and showered over the few people by the door and we all screamed, turning away from the inside wall as best we could.

The door burst open and a police officer in a bullet-proof vest and helmet was helping all of us up, yelling to get to the stairs, out and to the left. I might have been wrong about the cattle analogy—sheep being herded is probably more accurate, actually. I put my head down and followed everyone out. I...it's weird, Em. I don't really remember walking from that office out to the bus. I think I was scared I'd see you dead somewhere or get shot myself or...fuck, I don't know, something would happen. But I know I was on a bus and then it was moving away from the building.

It pulled up outside two double-wide trailers and paramedics with those awful smelling purple gloves were helping us one-by-one off the bus and into the trailers. They finally got to me and I let them walk me down the aisle and across the parking lot. The trailer was one long row of temporary exam rooms separated by thin curtains and pre-fabricated walls with medical equipment on little shelves. They weren't so much beds as slabs, as you know, but they poked and prodded me and took blood. Then...then I saw you come in the door and I asked for the curtain to be shut. I didn't want to talk to you, Emily. I was angry and scared and still stunned that it was over. So I ignored you when you pulled back the curtain and yelled my name. I heard the nurse and an officer ask you to leave and silently thanked them.

* * *

Emily ran her palm across her cheek and sniffed, trying to keep her composure (and tears from staining her notepad) in the quiet of the library.

"Can you forgive me for that, now that I've told you everything? I wasn't ready to face the sister I thought had abandoned me and hadn't tried anything to save me. I'm sure you did, but I wasn't thinking straight last week."

"I...I forgive you, Katie." Emily frowned and put her notepad away. She had one last question. "But there is one last thing."

"Oh Christ, there's always one last thing. That's the closest I'll come to apologizing for all of this, and you want to know one last thing?"

Emily offered a weak smile. "You shouldn't expect any less from your obsessed sister at this point."

"Guess not." Katie stood and started walking towards the door. Emily picked up her bag and shadowed her.

"Katie, who was their leader? I know you saw his face."

Katie whirled, indignation and fear clashing in red plumes on her cheeks. "Excuse me?"

"When we went back last Friday, I found the cloth mask and sunglasses you had been looking at in the desk drawer. Who was it?"

"I...I don't know what you're talking about, Em. Those could have been put there any time in the night. Why do you think I would withhold that from you?"

_Because __it__'__s __exactly __what __I __would __do__—__no__, __have __done_. Emily painfully wanted to admit as much to her sister, but if she told about her day last summer in this house, it was certainty a risk since there was likely cameras everywhere. Herr conflict was settled by the door opening Tony poking his head around to check in on them.

"You ladies alright? Dinner's waiting on us." His head disappeared and Katie hurried after him.

"Katie, wait!" protested Emily just loudly enough for her sister to turn, shake her head guiltily, and follow Tony downstairs.


	24. Chapter 24

Naomi awoke on Saturday morning with one eye squinting open, the other crusted shut, facing the small bedside table and the wooden slat doors of the closet built into the long. low wall beneath the lofted ceiling. Groaning, she rolled over and stared at the empty spot on the other side of the bed. _Where __the __hell __are __you __Ems__?_

Sitting up, she swung her feet around and tentatively touched the floor, wriggling her toes. Pressing into the mattress with both palms, Naomi looked back over her shoulder, contemplating her girlfriend's absence. A piece of her wanted to find Emily, break down every door in Bristol, and turn over every rock until she unearthed her girlfriend so that she could scream at her for being stubborn and reckless and putting herself in danger. Another piece begged to start a similar manhunt, only for the purpose of grabbing Emily tight, squeezing the breath out of her, and never letting her go instead of finding her only to berate her. But the logical side of Naomi admitted that neither would work because Emily was likely far from Bristol this morning, tracking down a lead and pushing that extra bit to conclude the case that seemed to have ripped them apart for the last two weeks—and Naomi would not have her girlfriend act any other way.

Emily's tenacity and eagerness to pursue cases through to the end without wavering had always been a point of pride for her; the dedication that Naomi had watched Emily demonstrate over the last several years in her growing responsibilities as a detective ignited flames of pride within. Until this case, that was. Until, as Katie had so indelicately put it, Emily became obsessed. The shock of catching Emily sneak back into their own home in the early morning hours was wearing off, but the disconcerting behavior it portended still remained. Moreover, Naomi worried that if Emily was going to maintain such a brash attitude towards her personal safety in unraveling the mysteries surrounding the SSI attack, Emily might not emerge as herself at all. The stress, emotional toll, and as of yesterday in the park, the physical danger would continue to mount and cause irreparable damage to _her_ Emily.

_Don__'__t __forget __that __she__'__s __already __paranoid_. Naomi pushed up from the bed, plucked her mobile from the bedside table, and shuffled downstairs, still trying to wake completely. The accusations about her involvement with Osbourn Ross had blindsided Naomi. The appearance of the bearded man at her campaign event, not to discount his dire warnings about Emily, had distracted Naomi from thinking about what had prompted Emily's deposition regarding the CIO of SSI and whether he had approached Naomi to cut some sort of deal. Naomi considered her girlfriend to be incredibly intelligent and highly rational, so for her to immediately transition from being on the defensive about what some with strict interpretations of the law would consider 'illegal activities' to relentlessly attacking Naomi about Ross trying to buy her allegiance in the House, wavered on impossible for Naomi to classify as Emily's original thoughts.

Certainly that was not to say that Emily _couldn__'__t_ have dreamt up a situation where Naomi, as the MP most directly affected by the events, decided to cozy up with SSI in return for some favors or funding later on, but to jump straight to that after showing no suspicion of such activity during her visit to London on Tuesday evening (and their adamant refusal to get out of bed on Wednesday morning before Emily took the train back to Bristol and Naomi had her luncheon)...well, Naomi didn't believe in coincidences or lucky guesses.

But who could have planted such a seed? Naomi entered the kitchen, dropped her mobile on the table, and reached into a cabinet, withdrawing a single mug. She placed it on the counter with a shaking hand as she listed off the people that knew she talked to Osbourn Ross after the hostage crisis. _I __knew__, __but __obviously __I __didn__'__t __tell __her__. __Erik__, __but __he__'__s __been __in __London __with __me __and __has __no __reason __to __tell __Emily __that __we __had __lunch __on __Monday__—__besides__, __he __wasn__'__t __there __when __Ross __actually __threatened __Emily__...__lunch __on __Monday__. __Oh __fuck_.

Emily did mention during their London dinner that Tony Stonem had contacted her showing interest in the SSI investigation last week, but what was stopping him from following up? He clearly felt a need to meddle in SSI's affairs if his intrusion on Monday was any indication. What better way to do so than stop them from being to right ship and put this hostage situation behind them through their Member in Parliament? Whatever his reasons for not wanting SSI to crawl their way out of this mess, if Tony had somehow told Emily, it meant that he possessed much farther reaching resources and contacts than Naomi originally thought. How else could he have known about a personal meeting between them? _Or __maybe __he__'__s __just __stabbing __in __the __dark__. __It __was __just __Ross __and __I__._ Naomi frowned as she made herself her a muffin, her tea waiting patiently just within reach.

_If_ it even had been Tony that planted the seed in Emily's mind, Naomi quickly rationalized that he could just be throwing darts in the dark, hoping they'd stick; in spite of his clear disdain for Ross, Naomi struggled to organize a justification for trying to set Emily against her. On one hand, keying Emily into the nasty back-room business of her political world could have been an effort to strengthen Naomi's resolve against such corruption and bribery. As far as Naomi knew, Emily had never truly broken any laws in her capacity as a junior investigator and up each lung of the ladder thereafter. So what? By seducing her into the suspicion that Naomi was somehow less wholesome in her work she would insist Naomi refuse, or better start some sort of investigation into SSI's dealings? What direct good would that do him?

Naomi frustratedly buttered the muffin and liberally covered it with preserves. If he knew there was something uncouth about Strategic Security Initiatives, why not just leak it himself? Why try to work through vassals or other channels that had a chance of being silenced or—if they truly did warrant the attention Emily and this Vic Patterson character believed they did—bought off? It seemed too risky, too full of manipulations that could dissolve into accusations of foul play and abandonment for more lucrative pastures; moreover, Naomi refused to contemplate that Emily would allow Tony Stonem or any other third-party dictate how she operated in a case.

_The __only __person __that __she __listens __to __is __me__...__except __for __now_. Naomi slumped dejectedly into her customary seat at the table. On the other hand, maybe that wasn't his play at all. If he was half as intuitive as his sister (an assumption Naomi felt comfortable making if the present-day stories and college-age legends were even part way true), then Tony surely knew Emily only had one weak point in her otherwise stubborn resolve.

_"_Chip away at the pedestal she places you on and she'll do anything to find out what's really going on," Naomi muttered to herself grimly. _Some thing__s stay __the __same __over __time_. Naomi absent-mindedly dragged her tablet across the table, brightening the display and opening her news app with her right hand as her left carefully raised half a muffin to her lips.

It never made it. She slowly lowered it back to the plate as the top stories queued up on the screen. Tapping the first one with her index finger, Naomi watched a _Post_ article from Friday blossom from a thumbnail into a full exposé. Under an inflammatory headline about how Naomi had abandoned her responsibilities to protect SSI's interests was an italicized by-line with a familiar name: Devlin Franks. Emily's seething words about the reporter surfaced, swirling around inside Naomi's head and replacing the silence of the kitchen with the incessant buzzing of a swarm of hornets. How could she possibly believe that Naomi would leak important, private aspects of the investigation to some faceless reporter she had never heard of before yesterday? Naomi pushed the tablet away, afraid she'd be tempted to spike it against the tile floor. Yes, paranoid was certainly the word to describe how Emily had sounded the previous afternoon. Whatever this reporter had insinuated and written about the two of them over the past week had ratcheted Emily's suspicion about the case—and her misgivings about Naomi's position—to peaks Naomi previously believed impossible.

Suddenly Naomi found herself standing, mobile in hand, as the ringback echoed faintly in the kitchen. She stared at the screen, confused at how quickly she had gone from seated and eating to dialing Erik's number.

"Hello? Ms. Campbell? Are you there?"

Naomi raised the phone to her ear. "Yes, sorry, Erik. I need you to get me the number of a member of the press." Naomi plucked the tablet from the table and quickly typed the number she requested in the address book app. "You're a lifesaver, Erik. Have a good weekend."

Naomi let him end the call and immediately brought the dialpad up again, determinedly pressing the screen as she dialed. Flipping her hair to one side, she brought the phone to her ear once more, the ringing cutting through the fading hornet swarm sound.

"Devlin Franks," a voice said groggily. _He__'__s __just __woken __up__, __good__._

Naomi bit back a 'Who the fuck do you think you are?' rejoinder, opting instead for a diplomatic: "Mr. Franks, this is Naomi Campbell. I'd like to speak to you about some articles I've read this week in the _Post_.

"Whoever this is, it's Saturday fucking morning. This isn't funny. I—"

Naomi snapped, her resolve to be polite shattered by his wake up-induced ignorance. "Oh, because it's fucking hilarious when you slander Members of Parliament in the press without actually speaking to them. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line tweaked Naomi's lips into a small smile. "Ms. Campbell! I beg your pardon—"

"Beg all you want, Franks. You're not going to get it. Give me answers instead."

"Okay," he said awkwardly. "Answers to what exactly?"

"The question I already asked. Who the fuck do you think you are? I've never heard of you, and I kind of deal with your type every day, especially in lovely Bristol," Naomi stood and wandered into the living room, left arm crossed and tucked under as she held the phone up to her right ear. "So I want to know what you think gives you the right to just call up my girlfriend out of the blue and harass her. Well?"

"I wasn't harassing her!"

"Don't act dense, arsehole. I'll give you a moment to wake up..." Naomi sat back on the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. "Okay, moment's up. Let's try this again. My girlfriend is Emily Fitch. She's a detective. You have been accusing her of rolling in more shit than an ecstatic pig. What gives you the right?"

"Um, how bout freedom of the press?"

"Yeah, unfortunately that doesn't give you license to defame her, or me, which," Naomi looked over the back of the couch towards the tablet left on the kitchen table, "is exactly what I'm reading in your articles. Libel is a serious accusation for someone in your profession, aren't I right?"

Franks was silent for several moments, but Naomi heard the sounds of a drink being poured through the phone. Finally, he said, "It's a career killer, yeah."

"And before this week, you had no career, so why kill something that doesn't exist?"

"Because I didn't think I was slandering anyone, okay?" shouted Franks. He swallowed hard and continued, "I had good information backing up every story."

"Oh? Good information from who? Because it sure as hell wasn't Emily. Or me. And if you're going to personally attack either of us, your 'good information' had better come from her or me."

"It...oh, fuck it. Look, this is awkward. Monday I got this call from someone who wanted me to start digging deeper into the SSI case. He said he'd make it worth my while, and sure enough that afternoon...fuck, I can't tell you this!"

"Franks, you'd better fucking tell me if you want to salvage some sort of career."

"Alright...alright, yeah. There was an envelope of cash waiting in my box when I got back to my flat. It couldn't have been ten minutes later that the guy called me and said Detective Emily Fitch and her sister knew more than they were telling in their statements. I've gotten other calls and notes—and money—all week. He knows everything that's going on with the investigation, and at first that's what I started writing on, but..."

"Go on," growled Naomi as she dropped her feet to the floor and sat forward.

"I decided it would make a better story to find out what I could about you and Detective Fitch. Look, this reeks of a cover-up, and who else better to be involved than the person that just stood up and proclaimed that 'Good People' would answer the call to ensure this never happens again?"

Naomi let out a breath. _Fucking __overzealous __scoop __chaser__, __you __let __yourself __get __played_. "Okay Franks, you want to know how you can redeem yourself?"

"What?"

"You've fucked up. Royally. But I'll make sure my staff doesn't pursue legal action against you for what you've printed about Emily and I if you agree to help me."

"Uh, sure."

_Of __course__ '__sure__'_—_you__'__re __in __no __position __to __decline_. "Congratulations. You're now the personal correspondent for Member Naomi Campbell. First thing, next time this guy calls you, call me next. I want you to tell me exactly what he says. Uh, when do you print your next story?"

"Monday, why?"

"Have you started writing it yet?"

"No, not yet. I always wait to see if this guy will give me any more information before I start."

"Well, you're not going to get your information for Monday's story from him, 'kay?"

"Okay..." Franks sounded puzzled. "And who exactly am I getting it from?"

"Me."

* * *

Emily shivered. Rolling over, she tried to snuggle into Naomi's side for warmth, only to find herself alone in bed. Frowning as she opened her eyes, Emily noted she had kicked the gold and blue duvet down to the foot of the bed and twisted the thin sheet during the night. But neither the set of sheets nor the bed itself were familiar. _Tony __Stonem_.

Those two words invoked another shiver as Emily wriggled up onto her elbows and took stock of the guest room he had offered her for the evening. A wing back with dark wooden legs, deep maroon cushions, and gold threads rested in one corner. The skirt she had worn the previous evening remained where she had laid it before falling into a fitful sleep, draped on one arm of the chair. Her flats were shrouded by the chair's shadow; her blouse was dumped on the floor between the chair and the bed.

Emily grimaced and turned away from the window as the dull throbbing she associated with having drunk too much wine the night before pressed against her temples. Pushing back with the heel of one hand, Emily climbed out of bed and stretched. The Oriental carpet enveloped her feet, eliciting a soft sigh. Picking up the blouse, Emily padded over to the chair and slowly got dressed. As she was buttoning the top button of the blouse, someone rapped on the door, the sharp sound of a heavy ring reverberating through into the bedroom.

"Come in," replied Emily as she snaked over the arm of the chair to stretch for her flats. Succeeding in grabbing them by the toe, she looked up at the door as she straightened. As had been the case at the mere thought of his name, seeing Tony standing just inside the doorway caused Emily to shiver.

"Good, you're awake. How did you sleep?"

Emily shrugged and focused on sliding her flats on. "Not as well as I do at home, no offense."

Tony reciprocated the shrug. "None taken. You're leaving already?"

"So long as Katie's awake, yes. Problem."

"Potentially," said Tony with a frown. "I'm not as keen to let Katie leave."

Emily looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"

One hand in his pocket, Tony ran the fingers of his left along both sides of his mouth. He stepped further into the room. "I don't believe Katie's safe in Bristol; I can guarantee her safety here."

"She ran back to Bristol last time she was here, what makes you think you can keep her here? Katie can take care of herself. Besides, that's not your choice to make."

Tony arched his eyebrows and turned away from Emily. Removing the hand from his pocket, he ran it up and down the post at the end of the bed. "I'm afraid that SSI is going to try and keep her quiet about anything she might have seen or heard...I think we both suspect she knows more than she lets on."

Emily sat silently in the chair, trying to process that Tony Stonem had just willingly admitted that he was going to keep her twin in his home without her consent. Was Stonem really that thick?

"Did you know she was almost killed the other day?"

"Sorry?" Emily looked up from a particularly interesting part of the Oriental rug's diamond pattern. "Killed?"

"Yes, in Bristol. And no, I'm not talking about being held hostage," clarified Tony, sarcasm lacing his voice. "I believe it was Thursday. Two men chased her and she was almost hit by a bus. She didn't tell you?"

Emily opened her mouth, but let her lips press back together without saying anything, realizing that she hadn't given Katie the opportunity to tell her while making her preparations for sneaking into SSI Thursday night. She had obviously told Tony, though. Finally, Emily whispered, "No, she didn't."

"Probably just didn't want to scare you. But it just reinforces my point that she's safer here than in Bristol."

"'Reinforces your point?'" repeated Emily. "And I suppose you want me to stay here too, just in case the boogeyman tries to get me?"

Tony spun around, genuine surprise illuminating his blue eyes. "No! You have an investigation to continue. One that can only be concluded in Bristol. So, it seems a bit counterproductive to keep you here."

"And what if there are men out to get me? My sister's more important than the detective?"

"To my knowledge, there isn't anyone out to get you, Emily."

"To your knowledge," she replied sardonically. "And you know everything?"

Tony shrugged modestly. "I have my ear to the ground and I talk to a lot of people."

"Well, these people should have told you who you're dealing with. Either I leave with Katie, or both of us stay here."

"How about a compromise?" offered Tony with a forced smile. "_You_ go back to Bristol, expose whatever it was SSI tried to hide from those terrorists, make some arrests, and then you can come back for some celebratory drinks. Then both of you can leave."

"That's not much of a compromise," retorted Emily.

Tony offered a half-smile. "Yeah, I was never very good with them."

"It's hard to believe that Katie's in that much danger."

"You'll have to trust me on this, Emily," stated Tony apologetically. He turned and walked out of the room, resting his forearms on the stone railing guarding the upstairs wrap-around hall. Emily followed to the door, arms remaining locked defensively in place across her chest.

"I always found it a bit difficult trusting the Stonems, if we're being honest."

"We are being honest." Tony looked down at his foyer below. "Last night you asked me what my long-term goal was after my second year of uni. You may not believe it, but it was simply to make sure that my sister was always happy and safe, any way I could...It just turned out that on my way to doing that, I fell into this." He waved one hand in the air, meekly gesturing to the palatial living he enjoyed.

"So your way of making sure she's happy and safe is to give the most dangerous men in the world the tools they use to spread malice and terror? Seems counterproductive."

Tony turned slowly, a dangerous look in his eyes. "You're trying to stereotype me again, Detective. And once again, you judge poorly. I think you've outstayed your welcome here; I'm sure there are leads to pursue in Bristol so your sister can return to a safe city. Niko will meet you in front to drive you back to the station."

Emily shivered involuntarily and nodded silently. Picking up her bag from its place just inside the door, she made a left and walked down the hall towards its intersection with the wide landing at the peak of the staircase. Looping around the banister and series of pillars rising imposingly every several meters, Emily looked back towards her room. Hands planted on the dense stone, Tony Stonem regarded her with an inscrutable look, but Emily felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand of their own accord as she hurried downstairs. The tingling of someone staring at her grew stronger with every step.

In the foyer, Emily picked up her pace, wanting to leave before Tony changed his mind and decided she needed to stay too. If he wouldn't relent about Katie, one of them outside trying to figure this whole thing out would have to do for now. Katie was still hiding things—crucial things—but those would have to wait until Emily could riddle out just why Tony was so damn interested in the SSI case. _I'll head straight back to the station seeing as Naomi will just try to delay me if I head home first..._

The sound of hushed voices floated out of the smaller den to her left, causing Emily to slow as the lilt of one voice seemed vaguely familiar.

"...did my part to plant the seed that she couldn't be trusted to continue, but you fucked everything up by letting her back onboard!" seethed the voice Emily thought she recognized. Emily strained to see through the door, but all she could make out was part of a desk and someone leaning back against it, their face hidden from view by the door frame. Suddenly, the person stood up, coming into view in the narrow gap between the door and its richly carved frame.

Underwood retorted, "That wasn't me! It was that mong, Harlan. We'll just have to 'guide' her in the right direction. Stonem will have to settle for—"

"He never settles! Just hope he gives you a chance to fix...your..mistake." Underwood moved out of Emily's severely restricted line of sight, but suddenly Pete Morris was sidled up in the gap she had been spying through, a look of surprise at seeing Emily standing there turning his features ashen. He pulled the door shut emphatically and Emily scurried out of Tony's house.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **Unfortunately, this will be the last update for a while—I think Labor Day is a fair estimate for the next installment. After that, though, it's the home stretch to the finish line. That being said, I'll get out of my own way and let you enjoy. Take care!

The train whirred smoothly over a newly-completed overpass and resumed its course westward parallel to the highway. The countryside stretched away to the horizon beyond the asphalt ribbon streaked with dashes of color. Chimneys and small farm houses dotted the hills between occasional towns. Emily saw none of the beauty as she watched her finger draw lazy waves along the window of the passenger car; instead of a rural landscape she saw only the foyer of Tony's house and the cracked door into the library.

Underwood and Pete Morris knew each other...knew Tony Stonem. The weaving personal connections seemed to branch out from the wave her finger traced, then double back on themselves. How could they possibly know each other? How long had they known each other? But more than that, why were they at his home early on a Saturday morning—and talking about her, no less! The slamming of the library door morphed into a dilapidated old train station that flashed by outside and Emily closed her eyes. Whatever the endgame, Emily felt comfortable assuming they at least were passing the details of her investigation on to Stonem. Their voices rang out clear in her mind, choice words and phrases slamming home with jarring effect: "...couldn't be trusted..."

"...let her back..."

"...guide her..."

"...he never settles..."

If Pete Morris had been under direction to undermine her and tarnish her competency in the eyes of the Chief, his actions (or, rather, inactions) during the hostage situation were minutely more logical. But there was a vast chasm between doing enough to seem like the lead negotiator cared about a terrorist attack and was drowning under the twin pressures of a compressed time to resolve the situation and the department's capabilities to assist Emily on the one hand and flat out refusing to help, putting both the majority of Bristol's police force _and_ the hostages in extreme danger, on the other. And Morris had chosen the latter. Perhaps part of his rationale was spite for Emily as the two had never meshed well together, but why let a personal grudge endanger the lives of so many others?

_Morris is just a pawn_, a logical part of Emily's mind chipped in. _Trying to riddle out why he wanted to work against you doesn't help you figure out who's really behind this. _Emily uncrossed her legs and wiggled her toes inside her flats. She let her eyes flutter open slightly to look outside at the gradual transition from country to the outskirts of suburban sprawl, but closed them as the fragments of conversation danced through her thoughts once more.

Why in the world would Tony want to make her Chief distrustful of his best detective and have her removed from the case, as their conversation inferred? Since the nascent moments of Emily's investigation, he had been poking around and meddling with his sort-of clues and contributions of information. Repeatedly, Stonem articulated a desire to see justice done and the person responsible be brought to justice. So what did he stand to gain from someone being arrested for holding dozens hostage and fleecing SSI out of a billion pounds sterling?

Emily opened her eyes and tugged her bag out from beneath her seat. She withdrew the worn notepad and scanned over the list of demands scrawled across the first page of the SSI hostage section; from Tony's first surprise visit to the station; from the angry margin notes scribbled once she could think about the meetings between her and the Chief. Repeatedly, 'Focus on WHY' was inked into the pages. As she reread the notes, the answer to her question began to take shape.

"He doesn't want anyone to find out 'who.' He just wants them to find out—"

"May I sit here?"

Emily's head snapped up from the pages in her lap at the offending voice, surprise at being addressed so late in the ride back to Bristol by a complete stranger giving way to a suffocating shock at seeing to whom the voice belonged. Apart from the spirited green eyes, Emily swore that a ghost was standing awkwardly in the aisle of her train car. Unable to speak, she swirled her head in a partial nod, partial back-and-forth shaking as if to clear cobwebs out of her thought processes.

"I've seen that look once this week, and just as I did with your girlfriend, I sincerely apologize for startling you. And I'm sorry for your loss."

"It was a long time ago," whispered Emily. She momentarily creased her brow, then extended a hand. "Detective Emily Fitch, but I think you already know that."

Her visitor smiled. "I do." He clasped her hand, gave it a brief yet definite shake, then withdrew a business card from his breast pocket. "Vic Patterson, SFO. I'm not sure if you're aware, but I have a meeting with Naomi today."

"I wasn't, actually. We haven't talked much since she got back from session. What're you meeting her about?"

Patterson's eyes lit conspiratorially. "The only thing worth meeting about right now."

"SSI," Emily stated simply.

"There you go. It's high time someone started truly looking into their business dealings and their books. My office has been doing some preliminary research since the hostage crisis ended. Hopefully Naomi will acquiesce to lead the inquiry during next session."

Emily looked down at the red and blue-tinged carpet and her lips involuntarily mouthed 'shit.' She felt the color drain from her face. Naomi had met with the Serious Fraud Office since their one night rendezvous in London and they wanted her to spearhead an investigation into SSI? Moreover, if they were having a follow-up meeting, Naomi was certainly taking it seriously. _Which __means __she__'__s _not _cozying __up __to __Osbourn __Ross __to __hide __things__, __you __idiot_. But begging Emily to stop her work weakened the ability to bring a viable inquiry to bear, didn't it? Why would she make her own job indescribably more difficult?

"And you're coming to Bristol to get her assent to help you? On a Saturday morning?" Emily asked quietly, refusing to look up at Freddie's look-alike.

"That's the idea, certainly. It'll be a fruitless visit otherwise."

Emily brought despair-stricken eyes up to meet Vic's energetic ones. "I'll help in any way I can. And I...I think I owe Naomi a huge apology, but..." She looked out the window and shook her head slowly. The train was firmly ensconced in suburbia, darting across and over streets lined with small shops and new apartment construction projects. Patterson remained silently, sensing that Emily had withdrawn from the conversation to battle an inner storm.

The train was slowing to a halt at the second-to-last station on the line when Emily's mobile stirred to life on the seat next to her, the screen lighting up eagerly and the small device buzzing insistently across the seat cushion.

"You might want to take that," suggested Patterson with a nod towards the mobile.

"Oh, yeah. Right." Emily took a deep breath and glanced at the screen. "It's a colleague of mine. Sorry."

"Not at all," he said, settling in his chair and withdrawing his own PDA to check his email.

"Detective Fitch speaking," Emily addressed her phone.

"Emily! It's Lewis, Lewis Adams? From work!"

Emily smiled at the eagerness in his voice and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Lewis. I know who you are. Did you find something?"

"Did I—Did I find—" blustered Lewis on the other end. "Look, can you come by the station? It'll be easier to explain in person."

Emily caught Vic's eye, covered the receiver, and mouthed 'Breakthrough.' He responded with twin arched eyebrows. Uncovering the receiver, Emily replied, "I'm just about to get off the train, actually. I'll be right down with a guest. Try and clean up the office a bit, yeah? We'll be there at half one."

* * *

Lewis met them at the front door, waving excitedly as they paid the taxi and walked up the shallow steps towards the station. Emily hastily introduced Patterson to her officemate, though she still felt as if she hardly knew him and was in no place to properly introduce him to anyone. The squad bay was nearly deserted; only the duty officers tasked to work the weekend shift were present, and all of them were idly chatting around the coffee maker in the break room. The pitched voices of a sports argument carried across the room as Emily led the two men to the stairs.

"So I was looking over those records you—"

"Not here, Lewis," interrupted Emily sharply. "In our office." She held pulled open the door to the stairs and held it open as Lewis and Vic descended eagerly. Emily looked around at the squad bay one last time, her eyes lingering on her (now Harlan's) office, and followed.

She trailed Patterson into the cramped basement office as Lewis beelined for his desk. He flourished several sheets of paper and turned, handing them to the SFO representative. Emily slid beside the tall man, peering over his right elbow at the financial records and the furious chicken-scratch notes Lewis had added in addition to the hurried circles and lines criss-crossing the typed numbers.

Patterson eased the top sheet to the side, eyes dancing between the two sheets and their bounty of notes. Emily glanced up to see astonishment glazing over his eyes and a dumbfounded half-grin pulling one corner of his mouth upwards.

"This is unbelievable," he whispered.

"I expected something like this, but I've never seen it on this wide a scope. I had the same reaction when I added the numbers up. Unbelievable they hid it for so long."

"Would either of you be kind and explain to me what the fuck is so unbelievable?"

Lewis looked across the sheets in Patterson's arms and blushed. "Sorry, Detective. Come here. I'll show you." He backpedaled around his desk, shuffling through multiple stacks of papers and turning some around so Emily could see them clearly. She squeezed around Patterson and placed her palms down on the edge of the desk so that her fingers could clasp the underside of the desktop. Leaning forward, she squinted in concentration at the pages, matching Lewis's narration with what she was seeing on paper.

"Remember how I calculated that there was an annual £450 million in unaccounted for funds, like clockwork? That the records SSI sent to the news stations were doctored to minimize these numbers to something more reasonable?"

"Yes. Go on."

"Right, well. That was before I had these." He tapped the papers Emily had recovered from underneath the vending machines in SSI. "A couple of them were redundant or thoroughly unhelpful, which is to be expected. I mean, I was looking for the proverbial needle."

"And that needle is what exactly?" Emily looked up from the papers at the mousy man in front of her.

Lewis adjusted his glasses and hovered his finger directly over one of the line items he had circled. "This."

"If you're going to launder money, you have to set up shell companies and fictitious groups to siphon the money through, to distribute it out to all the various bank accounts of those involved," supplied Vic from behind Emily. He was still flipping through the sheets Adams had handed him. "And when I say those involved, I mean both sides. The ones providing the services and the ones receiving."

"So this is what? Proof they were stealing from themselves? I mean, didn't you already know that before? That's what the £450 million was, right?"

"Yes and no," hedged Lewis. He cleared his throat. "It's one thing to say, 'Oh they're committing fraud.' It's another thing entirely to find the key to unlocking those other ledgers where the company keeps track of its dirty deals."

"And this item," Emily peered back down at the word shadowed by Lewis's finger. "Uh, Ocelot? That's the key?"

"That's the key," confirmed Lewis.

Emily looked back over her shoulder. "So what does he have?"

"The Ocelot books," Patterson answered without looking up.

"Like I said, a couple of the new sheets you gave me were shit. Excuse my language."

"I don't give a fuck about your language, Lewis." said Emily good-naturedly.

"Oh. Okay. Right. One of the sheets was an ordinary sheet of their records, but it did have a single line-item that stood out." He placed the sheet in question in front of Emily, who picked it up and traced the line Lewis had circled: a single expenditure for a personal security program called Ocelot in the sum of a half million pounds with no receipt number. "It stood out because nowhere else in the records I've gone through all week was there a mention of a security program called Ocelot in the Domestic Security department.

"On a hunch, I decided to check the same week of these records for all the other departments. Nothing for this year, but last year..." Lewis frowned and lifted a binder off the floor, dropping it on the desk and scattering several sheets of paper. He grabbed a large section and flipped past it. Making a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, he spun the binder around and pointed triumphantly at another line item for exactly the same amount for a program named Ocelot. "This binder is the records for the Cyber Security department. So I kept checking and sure enough, two years ago it was there in the records for Military Security; three years ago for Security Consultations, and so on. The earliest mention of it was in the records for International Partnerships eight years ago."

Okay, so one of the records I gave you yesterday led you to this, which I'm guessing took a while to track down," Emily waited for an affirming nod from Lewis before continuing, "but what about the last page I gave you?"

Lewis pointed over her shoulder and looked across the desk over his glasses. "An actual page of the Ocelot ledger."

"Fucking hell," muttered Emily. She turned to Patterson. "Well?"

"It's extraordinary. They were obviously supremely confident no one would catch a single program that bounced around the company expenditure records from year to year. A half million price tag for a program is about right; it's not extravagant, but only listing it as a couple hundred pounds would raise questions also. So they made it innocuous. And then proceeded to bribe, cajole, sell, and manipulate however much they could under Ocelot's umbrella." Patterson shook his head in dismay. "It's only one sheet, but that means there have to be more. And this one sheet is a treasure trove of information—everything's listed plainly. Like I said, supremely confident."

Emily pulled the sheets out of his grasp and scanned over the print-heavy pages. She did not recognize many of the individuals named, but she could not claim the same for a handful of defense contractors and arms companies that appeared alongside them. "Who are the people?"

Patterson quickly read the page upside down and shrugged. "A who's who of arms dealers, warlords, terrorists, politicians, and businessmen." He began pointing at various names and giving rapid-fire accounts of who they were. "Leads a militia in Angola...Member of Parliament for Manchester...created his own arms manufacturing firm in Moldova in the mid-nineties and now trafficks all sorts of weapons from Eastern Europe to everywhere else..."

"All of this did make me wonder one thing though," said Lewis, notes of confusion laced in each word. Emily turned back around to him; Vic simply looked straight over her head at the financial investigator. "Why would someone go through all the trouble of holding hostages and risk getting caught just to demand SSI publicize all this stuff? I mean, that's what this is all about, right? Why someone would take an office building hostage?"

"And who would want to?" added Emily, nodding.

"Well, that seems a little more obvious now, doesn't it?" countered Vic. Emily turned and craned her neck to look up at him. "Someone knows their name is on this list and thought it was too much of a risk to try and blow the whistle on them when they already possessed the equipment to make a bigger statement—a statement with a large paycheck as the exclamation point at the end."

Emily pursed her lips and nodded slowly. "I said I'd try and help your investigation any way I could; I didn't realize it'd be so soon."

"I hope you'll continue to help. But nothing can move forward in a meaningful way against SSI without Naomi's help in Parliament. Speaking of which," Vic looked at his watch. "Her chief of staff asked me to be at her local office in ten."

"I'll go with you," offered Emily. Her accusations and poisonous stabs about being untrustworthy and disloyal to all the morals and values they had championed for the better part of a decade started to churn again, and Emily struggled to keep her composure in front of the two men. "I have some apologies to make."

"No worries." Patterson turned to Lewis and extended a long arm, firmly shaking the smaller man's hand approvingly. "I'd appreciate it if you don't make copies of any of these records just yet, Mr. Adams. You've done some outstanding work and I would hate to see it go for naught."

"Me too. My work's not quite done yet though. I still have so much to go through: routing information, the amount in all these bank accounts, who had access to them from SSI..." Vic and Emily smiled at one another and silently slipped out of the room as Lewis continued muttering to himself and searching through the sea of papers drowning his side of the office.

* * *

Vic and Emily stood on the sidewalk outside the front door, waiting on another taxi, and enjoying the rarity of a sun-drenched day when Emily began to feel the same tingling sensation that had plagued her in Tony's home earlier that morning. She discreetly checked back over her shoulder to see if Lewis had scrambled upstairs to tell them one final thing, but the steps up to the station were barren. Frowning, Emily slowly scanned up the street as she turned back around.

"Everything alright?" asked Vic as he noted Emily's discomfort.

"Shhh," responded Emily quietly. Cocking her head, she narrowed her eyes and stepped off the curb without warning. _You __have __got __to __be __fucking __joking_.

"For fuck's sake!" Patterson exclaimed as the detective moved into oncoming traffic and crossed the street. A passing Vauxhall blared its horn at her as she reached the far side and turned to her right, walking as quickly as she could. Ahead of her, a man wearing a tattered jacket over a hoodie moved away from the doorway of the closed restaurant he had been lurking in and took off at an equally brisk walk.

Several blocks up, a taxi turned the corner and started down the street towards them. The man's hand shot into the air as he flagged it down and jogged across the single lane of traffic on their side of the street.

"No! Wait!" shouted Emily as she took off after him at a sprint. Patterson called after her from where he still stood in front of the police station, but Emily ignored him. The man grabbed the door handle of the taxi and jerked it open. Emily watched helplessly as he leaned into the car. _Why __doesn__'__t __he __just __get __in__?_

The man extricated his head from the taxi and, with the briefest of glances back at Emily, broke into a sprint around the back bumper and down a side-street. Emily gave an incoherent shout and chased after him, drawing yet another horn blast from a college student in a convertible. Rounding the taxi, which had yet to move from where the man flagged it down, she slowed as the side street, devoid of any pedestrians or shoppers with a tattered jacket and hoodie, filled her field of vision.

"Shit!" Emily grabbed her head with both hands and frustratedly spun in a circle. "Shit, shit shit!"

"Emily, what the fuck?" demanded Patterson as he walked up to the cab and asked the driver to wait a moment. Emily looked over at the SFO agent, then back down the street for her missing quarry. "Emily, the driver says that guy paid for our fare."

Emily wrinkled her nose and walked back towards the cab. Vic gave her a questioning look.

"It's, uh, it's nothing." Emily cast a final look over her shoulder down the side-street. "I just thought I saw an old friend."


End file.
